


Kids In Love

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 114,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11246151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Bad grades and unrequited love are typical problems of college students. But unlike their peers, April Kepner and Jackson Avery have come up with a plan to solve them. When a GPA-booster music theory class turns out to be harder than he anticipated, pre-med Jackson enlists the fantastically irritating and annoyingly pretty vocal music major April to write his papers for him in exchange for $1,000.But April has something else in mind.In exchange for her work, Jackson will pretend to be April’s boyfriend long enough to win her the attention of her crush, Alex Karev, or until the semester ends. With a firm promise in place: they won’t fall for each other. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know I can never stay away for long. I'm so excited about this one!! Unfortunately, my work schedule is about to get pretty crazy, so updates won't be as fast as before. But they'll still be happening! Happy summer :)

**APRIL**

I already told myself that I wouldn’t cry today. Because when I cry, my mom cries. And when my mom starts crying, she doesn’t stop. 

I kept my promise, too. The whole time that my mom, dad, and little sister, Alice were helping to move me in, I kept a smile on my face. A big one, too. I tied my long, red hair up in a bun and got to work alongside them and really enjoyed it. I enjoyed it, that is, until I started thinking about how soon they’d be leaving and driving 241.6 miles away back home to Moline. 

I’ve definitely calculated. 

But now, sitting in my room alone, I don’t have anyone else to worry about but myself. Not even a roommate; I live in a single dorm. I’m not used to this whole being by myself thing. I have three sisters, and I’m the first one to leave for college. Libby, the oldest, goes to community college in the next town over and, because of my nephew, Liam, still lives at home. I’m used to being around three arguing girls, two chatty parents, and a baby. So being here in this room with just a bed, an empty desk, and undecorated walls, I don’t feel quite like myself. 

I place my hands on my knees and stare at the floor, feeling tears roll down my cheeks without bothering to wipe them away. I sniffle in and think about how badly I want to go home, even though just days ago I’d been unable to stop daydreaming about my new life here. I wanted it so bad; I’d been fantasizing about moving to DePaul and coming to Chicago ever since I got accepted last November. Over the summer, I read plenty of articles in Seventeen magazine about how hard moving away for college is, but I had brushed it all off. I never thought that I would feel this way. 

But I definitely am. I just want to go home and be with my family. It’s a Sunday, which means that Dad will get the grill out and make dinner for everyone out on the patio. If I were home, I’d probably have Liam on my lap while Alice and Kimmie argued over who got to sit where, with Libby fighting on the phone with Liam’s dad. Everything and everyone at home is predictable, and I liked it that way.  

Here, I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know what to expect, and I have no friends. 

At home, I’m not exactly the picture of popularity either, but I did have a few people. They both stayed behind, Reed and Charles, and I’m sure with me gone they’ll couple up. I always knew it was begging to happen, Charles has had a crush on Reed for forever that he’ll have to stop denying sometime. I miss them, but not as much as I miss the entirety of everything familiar. Getting in the car and going to get ice cream at sunset, driving to the ravine and sitting on the edge to look at the stars, going to church with my family. I miss it all already. 

I sigh and cover my face with my hands, elbows resting on my knees. I don’t know what my life is going to look like here, or what it’s even  _ supposed  _ to look like. 

There’s a floor meeting tonight at 8, but it’s only 5 and I’m starving. I look at the student ID that’s resting on my nightstand, my own picture smiling eagerly up at me, then shake my head. I don’t want to go eat by myself. That’s actually the last thing I want to do. So I will my hunger away and get up from the bed, thinking that distracting myself will make me forget about my hunger. 

I make my bed, organize my supplies on my desk, and tack up my posters on the wall. I tack my first Taylor Swift one right above my headboard and my second one a little further down, hanging my white twinkle lights between them. After my little area is all set up, I stand back and look at what I’ve done and feel like it’s a bit more like my space at home. It feels more like me. 

I hang my clothes in my small closet and tuck what won’t fit into the dresser against the far wall. As the final touch, I set my Bible out on my nightstand next to my alarm clock, which I set the time on after glancing at my phone. I notice that it’s already 7 and since I’ve taken a moment to breathe, my hunger is back. 

I hold my ID between my hands and take in a shaky breath. I’m not sure how to use this or where I even go to eat. I just know money - a lot of it - is loaded on here, and it’s supposed to last me the rest of the quarter. Ten weeks. Then after November, it’ll reload for winter quarter.  

I don’t want to go alone, but I have no other choice. I’m going to starve if I don’t go out and do something about it, so I sling on my crossbody bag and take a deep breath, making sure that I have my keys with me. It’d be so embarrassing to get locked out on the first day. 

Just as I’m locking my door, I hear a couple voices nearby talking animatedly. I glance over, tucking my hair behind my ear so I can see, and notice two girls coming out of the room that’s attached to mine via the bathroom. They must be my suitemates. I wet my lips and open my mouth as I try to think of something to say, but nothing comes out. I direct my eyes back down to the lock and keep them there, willing the girls to walk by without acknowledging me since I already embarrassed myself in my head before I said a single word. 

“Hey!” one of them says, and I fumble with my key and drop it. 

I kneel down to the floor, looking up as I crouch down. The two girls have stepped away from their door to approach me, and are now standing above me with smiles on their faces. 

“Hey, April!” the redhead says. 

I screw up my face with confusion. “Uh… how did you know my name?” I ask. 

She points to the circle cut out next to my door with my name printed on it. 

“Oh,” I say, blushing. I’m sure my face must be fire-engine red. This is mortifying. They probably think I’m so stupid. 

“Are you our suitemate?” the brunette asks, glancing back at their door. 

“Duh, she is,” the redhead says. “Hi, I’m Addison. This is Amelia. We’re your suitemates.” 

“Cool,” I say, holding my ID card so tight in my hand that I’m sure it’s about to slice into me. 

“We were just about to head to the Student Center,” Addison says. “I’m so hungry. Wanna come with us? 

My stomach twists and turns into knots. I don’t want to make a fool of myself, but I’m so excited that someone is actually asking me to do something. On the very first day. “I - oh, um, sure,” I say, managing a smile. 

“Awesome!” Addison says. “Come on, let’s go.” 

I trail behind them on the way to the Student Center, peering up and around to take in my surroundings. Nothing looks familiar. I have a feeling that I’m going to get lost on this campus a lot, even though it’s only about four blocks wide. I can’t get the directions straight in my head, and I remind myself to bring the map that’s in my planner with me for the first day of classes. 

Addison and Amelia chatter away as we go through the revolving doors of the building, and I try and keep up with their conversation. It’s easy to gather that they knew each other before moving here and must have requested to live together, because their rapport is much more comfortable than that of two people who’ve just met today. I find myself wishing that I had Reed, if only to just have someone to fall back on. We weren’t as close as Addison and Amelia seem to be, but I definitely deemed her my best friend. Even though she wasn’t the greatest. I doubt we’ll stay in contact now that I’ve moved so far away and everything about her life will stay so much the same. 

“What are you gonna eat, April?” Amelia asks once we get to the top of the stairs. So many options are laid out in front of me and I have no clue where to start. “I’m gonna get a sub.” 

“Let her talk,” Addison says, elbowing her friend. “Do you need help?” she asks me. “I know it seems like a lot, like way too many options. But you just gotta know what ones are good and what ones aren’t. Here, let me show you.”  

I come to the conclusion that Addison must be a sophomore. There’s no way she knows as much as she does about the dining hall as a freshman, because she knows a lot. She tells me what restaurants are good choices and what ones aren’t, and also what ones are good for hangovers and what ones have really fast service. She gives me the rundown of the whole place in less than five minutes, and I decide to get a salad. 

A salad isn’t what I really want - I’m hungrier than this. But it’s easy, and I don’t want to spend time in line around other people. I just want to sit down. I almost wish I hadn’t come with them, because all they do is continue to talk to me. I’m worn out from it. 

“So, what’s your major?” Addison asks, picking up a fry and popping it into her mouth. 

“Oh, vocal music,” I say, meeting her eyes for a second before staring back down at my mediocre salad. 

“For real?” Amelia cuts in. “You sing? Will you sing something?” 

I open my mouth, then close it again after only a tiny peep comes out. 

“Shut up, Amy,” Addison says. “She’s not gonna just sing right here.” 

“Why not?” Amelia says. 

“Just shut up,” Addison says. “That’s really cool, April. I’m a Journalism major, and Amelia’s undecided.” 

“I think I wanna be pre-med, like my brother,” Amelia says. “But my mom wants me to wait a year and figure it out for sure. She’s so annoying.” She rolls her eyes and juts her thumb out towards Addison. “She and my brother used to date. But it was a whole big thing when-” 

“She doesn’t wanna hear about that,” Addison says. “She doesn’t care.” 

“No, I care,” I say, stabbing a piece of lettuce. 

Amelia leans forward. “Addison and my brother, Derek, were like the biggest power couple in high school. Derek is older than me, by the way. Like her. Everyone thought they were gonna get married…” 

“Amy…” 

“They did! We did!” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, then my dumb fuck brother cheated on her with this little whore in my grade. She goes to some college out east and my stupid brother followed her there. My point is, I don’t know, my mom must be smoking crack in thinking that I should ‘be like my brother.’” She sighs. “Sorry. I tend to rant. He bothers me sometimes. Like, I love him, but I fucking hate him.” 

I chuckle a little bit, one side of my lips pulling up in a smile. 

“After that lovely story,” Addison says. “Do you have any siblings, April?” She laughs. “Or anyone who’s cheated on you? Any drama?” 

“Three sisters,” I say, lacing my fingers together. “One older, two younger. Libby, Kimmie and Alice. Libby had a baby last year and that’s kinda… the big family drama, I guess. She’s only 20, not married. And my parents are religious, so they really didn’t like it.” I shrug. “But we love the baby, so it’s not that bad. Except for that his dad is a real jerk.” 

 “A real jerk,” Amelia says, planting her fist on the table. “So no one’s cheated on you? Broken your heart? Those are my favorite stories.” 

“You’re sick and wrong,” Addison says. 

“So are you,” Amelia retorts. “So, April?” 

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve never… uh, I’ve never really dated anyone.” 

“Oh,” Addison says. “Why’s that? Any reason?” 

I shrug. I don’t want to sound pathetic by saying that no one’s ever wanted me, so I spit out my classic line. “Just haven’t been interested in anyone,” I say. “My school was really small. It was almost like incest, dating anyone.” 

“I feel that,” Amelia says, pointing in my direction. “Your mind is gonna be blown here. I already met a guy who I wanna bone. His name’s Owen, lives in U-Hall. And like… holy hell.” 

Addison raises her eyebrows at me. “Amy is a little boy-crazy,” she says. “You get used to it.” 

Her words, said so inclusively, make me feel warm inside. Like they plan on keeping me a part of this friendship for more than just tonight. 

I’ve never really been good at friends, so I definitely didn’t think I’d be making any this soon. I was glad that I got a single room so I could have alone time and privacy, but I knew my mom and dad were worried that it would just isolate me further. Now, I can prove them wrong. I already made two good friends who live just across the bathroom. 

When we get back to our dorm, Clifton-Fullerton, it’s almost 8 o’clock and getting close to the time of our floor meeting. I pause as I get out my key to unlock my door, watching Addison dig in her bag for the key to theirs. 

“So… uh, are you guys gonna head down to the floor meeting?” I ask.

“I’m not,” Addison says. “I did all of that last year. They’re not gonna tell me anything I don’t already know. But Amy’s going.” 

Amelia groans. “Unwillingly,” she says. 

“Oh, okay,” I say. 

“You going?” Amelia asks me. 

“Yeah,” I say. “I was gonna head down in a few minutes.” 

“Let’s just go together,” she suggests.

I agree, and we go into our separate rooms to decompress for a second and set our stuff down. I sit on my bed and smile to myself with my hands on my knees, swinging my feet happily. I hop up after only a second of resting and hang a few more decorations, including a sign with a K for Kepner on it that I put above my headboard. After that’s perfectly centered, I lie down until I hear a repetitive knocking on my door, then I know it’s time to head downstairs. 

Amelia complains the whole way down about the fact that Addison is forcing her to go to the meeting. She doesn’t think she should have to, seeing as her best friend knows all of this stuff already. But Addison said it would be good for her to show her face, and Amelia reluctantly agreed. If only to check out the guys, she said. 

Our floor is meeting in the lobby, and it looks like everyone is mostly already there as the two of us walk out of the elevator. About fifteen or twenty people are sitting in the couches and chairs, and the people who can’t fit are standing around, hovering. Some are mingling, some are just sticking off by themselves on their phones. I know that would be me if Amelia weren’t here.

There’s no place to sit, so we join the people standing. Amelia pops her hip to one side and surveys the lobby as I stand beside her, my arms crossed over my chest. 

“I don’t see anyone from my welcome tour,” she says. “You see anyone you recognize?” 

I glance around, my eyes not landing on anyone in particular. “No,” I answer. 

“Hmm,” she says. “Oh, would you look at that. Hot guy at 2 o’clock.” 

I furrow my eyebrows. “This thing starts at 8,” I mutter. 

“No, idiot,” she says. “Hot guy. My 2 o’clock.” 

I look up, still equally as confused. “Your 2 o’clock what?” I ask. 

“Oh my god, you are hopeless,” she says, then grabs onto my shoulders to turn them the way she wants. “Freaking hot guy. Right there. Do you see him, blind ass? In the red shirt. He’s like, looking this way?” 

Once she maneuvers me the right way, of course I see him. He is looking our way, one hand on his chin, laughing with a few other guys who must be his friends. 

“Yeah, he’s alright,” I say, then look away. “I guess.” 

She scoffs. “You guess,” she says. “Seriously? That might be the best looking man I’ve ever seen in my life. Now, I’m not trying to hit that, because I’ve got my eyes on a certain redhead in U-Hall if you’ll recall… but still. Doesn’t mean _you_ shouldn’t.”  

My eyes widen. “Oh, no,” I say. 

“Why not?” she asks, baffled. 

“I… I don’t go for guys like that,” I say, directing my eyes back to the floor. 

She nudges me with her elbow and I hear her sigh. “You don’t go for guys at  _ all _ , by the sound of it,” she says. “What’s wrong with him? Name one thing, and I’ll let you off the hook.” 

I open my mouth, gaping for words. “He - I - he’s… he’s way too full of himself,” I stammer. 

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t know that. I hear excuses.” 

“No,” I say. “It’s so obvious. He’s all… cocky, and stuff. I can’t stand that. I can tell from all the way over here, he’s just insufferable.”  

Amelia laughs. “Just insufferable, okay,” she says. “I can see you feel strongly about this, alright. I’ll shut up, geez.” 

A few moments later, our RA, Miranda, comes down and starts the meeting. She tells us about dorm policies, a lot of which don’t pertain to me because they have to deal with roommate agreements. I find myself really grateful that I’m in a single room. So much less drama to deal with, and I can just worry about myself. She tells us that we can get into sports games for free - recommending the girls’ basketball team because they’re better than the boys, even though they get less hype. She tells us how much it costs if you lose your ID or Ventra card; the latter is a blue farecard for the trains and buses in the city. I don’t plan on losing either of mine, so I have nothing to worry about. 

Lastly, we have to go around and say our names, our major, where we’re from, and an interesting fact about ourselves. My stomach drops, and I have the unignorable urge to run away. 

We start off across the room from me, so I have plenty of time to think. What the heck is an interesting fact about me? I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound lame. I practice what I’m going to say in my head.  _ Hi, I’m April. I’m a vocal music major, and I’m from Moline, Ohio. An interesting fact about me is…  _

Is… is… what? 

I can sing. Yeah, they get that from the whole vocal music major thing. What else is interesting about me? I have no earthly idea. But my turn is coming up fast, and before I know it, I’m up. 

“Uh, h-hi…” I stutter, trying my best to let my eyes roam around to everyone instead of centering them on the floor. “My name is April. Kepner. April Kepner. I’m, uh… I’m a vocal music major.” There are murmurs of interest from around the room; it’s not a major that’s been mentioned yet. “And an interesting fact about me is…” I’m stuck. Everyone is staring at me. My face is so red, I know it must be, because it’s burning up. “An interesting fact about me is that I have goats. At home. I have goats at home. I… I grew up on a farm."

I just spit it out. It was the only thing I could think of, even though it’s not interesting at all. I feel like such an idiot. Everyone else had cool things, about the tropical places they went over the summer, what concerts they went to, all sorts of things like that. And all I could say was that I grew up on a freakin’ farm and have  _ goats _ . 

“Hey, guys,” I hear a voice say. I look up to see that the circle has moved to the boy who Amelia thinks is cute. He’s smiling, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He is so, so arrogant. “I’m Jackson. Uh, let’s see here. I’m pre-med. Pretty badass, I know. I know.” He smiles again. “An interesting fact about me is that the building next to us is named after my great-grandfather.”  

I close my eyes and they practically roll into the back of my head. Of course he’s a legacy kid, and the ultimate version of one, too. Sounds like his family practically helped build this place. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has some relationship to Vincent St. DePaul himself - or at least, if he claimed to. 

“No way,” someone says. 

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back in the cushioned chair he’s sitting in, body language open. “The Avery Academic center. That’s all me, dude.” 

“Technically not  _ you _ ,” I mutter, way too low for anyone to hear. I roll my eyes again, directed down at the floor. I just want to go back up to my room and go to bed. Classes start tomorrow, and I want to be prepared. 

After the meeting is over, mostly everyone stays around to mingle and socialize, but not me. I get up from the place we’d found to sit and start heading towards the elevator, but Amelia grabs my wrist. “Where’re you going?” she asks. 

“Back up,” I say. “I’m tired."

She contorts her face into a confused expression. “It’s not even 9.” 

“I have an 8am,” I say. It’s not a lie or an excuse, it’s true. I have a computer class tomorrow morning, which is a freshman requirement. I’m not exactly excited for it, but I know it’ll be easy and it’ll be good to get it out of the way.  

“Oh, okay,” she says, then punches my arm softly. “Nerd. Thanks for coming with me. Probably wouldn’t have come if I was alone.”  

“No problem,” I say, feeling my shoulders turn towards the direction I want to go. 

“I’m gonna hang around, though,” she says. “Maybe head over to U-Hall, we’ll see. If Addie asks, just tell her.” 

“Okay,” I agree, then head upstairs. 

After I’m changed into my pajamas with my teeth and hair brushed, I sit on my bed and call my mom. She picks up before the first ring is even through, and we talk about my day. She’s happy that I made a couple new friends, and glad that I went through with the floor meeting even though I had told them I didn’t want to go. I didn’t tell her how I made a fool out of myself, because all she’d do is tell me that it couldn’t have been that bad. But it really was. I don’t tell her about the annoying, pompous boy, either. I’ve never talked to her about boys, and I don’t plan on starting now. If I talk to anyone about them, it’s Libby. She has the most experience. But I don’t feel like calling my sister tonight, I just want to go to bed. 

After I hang up the phone, I open my planner and look at my schedule to distract myself from crying. On Mondays I have LSP 120, my computer class, at 8am. Intro to Music Theory at 11:20, which will be super easy, but it’s a class I have to take for my major. On Tuesdays, I have WRD 103 - which stands for Writing, Rhetoric, and Discourse - at 9:40, Philosophy 100 at 1, and Algebra 202 at 2:40. That’s 20 credit hours, 4 more than recommended, but I can handle it. I’ve always thrived off a heavy course load, and what else is college for besides learning? I’m almost excited for all the homework I’ll have, even though I know that makes me sound a little crazy. 

I lie down in bed and pull the covers up to my chin, tossing and turning to get comfortable on this unfamiliar, stiff mattress. I roll over and look out the window, where I can see a decent view of campus. I sigh and feel a lump rise in my throat as my eyes start to burn. I’m happy to be here, but at the same time I wish I weren’t here at all. I want to be at home, in my cozy bed, listening to Kimmie’s subtle music through the wall. For the first time since coming here, I let the feeling wash over me. I feel really, really alone. 

***

The next morning, I wake up way before my alarm with a nervous stomach. I know I should eat something, that’s usually the first thing I do, but I can’t force myself. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, taking deep breaths to try and calm down, but it only works for a few seconds before the nerves come buzzing back. 

I tell myself it won’t be bad. I’ll use my map and I won’t get lost. I woke up early, so I’ll have plenty of time to pick out my outfit and make my hair look okay. It’s all going to be fine. I’ve done more than 12 first days of school before, this one’s no different. 

Except that it is. It very much is. 

I take a shower and stand in front of my closet in a towel as I try to decide what to wear. It’s going to be pretty hot, but last night Miranda told us how cold the classrooms can get, so I pick out a pair of dark skinny jeans and a billowy tank top and lay them out on my bed for when I’m ready. 

Addison and Amelia aren’t awake yet, that’s obvious by the silence coming from the other side of the bathroom door leading into their room. I lock it and stand in front of the mirror in my underwear and cami, drying my hair and painstakingly curling it. I didn’t do this much at home, because I didn’t really have anyone to impress. But now, I have everyone to impress. 

I swipe my mascara wand over my eyelashes and look at my face. I need something more, so I dig around in my sparse makeup bag and pull out an eyeliner pencil that’s who-knows-how old, and hold it up to the light. It’s dull and unsharpened, but I don’t have a sharpener, so I’ll just have to do my best. Libby once tried to teach me how to do more with makeup, but we’d both gotten frustrated and given up. Now, I wish I would’ve listened, because this stupid pencil isn’t doing anything. The color won’t even come out, no matter how hard I press, and if I press too hard, it hurts my eye.

“Stupid thing,” I say, throwing it down at the sink where it clatters. Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I see that I’ve messed up my mascara with my endeavors. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter, wiping off what I did with a makeup wipe before doing it all over again. I’m just going to have to be settled with mascara. It’s all I can freaking do, and I don’t have time to mess up again. 

I put my clothes and shoes on, then make sure everything is packed in my backpack. Once I’m sure that everything looks good, I fold my map of campus up into a tiny square to rest in my palm, then head out the door. 

As I’m locking it up, I hear, “Good luck on your first day, girl,” from a tired voice. 

I look over and see Addison padding down the hallway from the lounge - a cup of coffee in her hands, hair a mess atop her head, bleary eyes. She gives me a weak smile, and I attempt to give her one back. 

“Thanks,” I say. 

“Whatcha got first?” 

“LSP,” I say. 

“Ugh,” she says. “Good luck. Snore.” 

I laugh nervously and wave before I leave. When I’m standing on the sidewalk right outside my dorm, I glance at the map as inconspicuously as I can, seeing that the building I need to go to is the Avery Academic Center. 

_ The building right next to us is named after my great-grandfather. _

I look to my right and can’t miss the sign. It’s not far at all, and I feel a sense of relief wash over me. That wasn’t too bad. I can do this. I got this.  

LSP is quick and full of reading the entire syllabus out loud like we can’t do it ourselves. Time passes slowly, and when it finally ends at 9:30, I’m so glad. My stomach growls for breakfast since I didn’t eat anything, so I tell myself that I should go to the Student Center in my free time. It’s no big deal. That’s what it’s there for, and I won’t be able to concentrate in music theory if my stomach is grumbling the whole time. 

I stumble over my words when I order, but it doesn’t take long for me to be sitting down at a table by myself with a bagel. I put my headphones in and do some people watching, feeling more and more normal with each passing second as I see plenty of people sitting alone with headphones in. This must be a normal thing in college. Sometimes you have to do things alone. That’s okay, I can do this. This is no big deal. 

As I finish the first half of my bagel, someone catches my eye. He’s sitting at a table with a few other guys, but he’s the only one whose face I can see. He has short brown hair, a tiny bit of attractive stubble on his chin, and a puppy-dog look in his eyes when he’s not smiling. My heart does a funny thing - kind of twists and starts pumping harder, and my face flushes with heat. I watch him talk to his friends, laughing and leaning forward as he engages actively in their conversation, and I don’t plan on looking away until his eyes rove over and lock with mine. 

Then I jolt my gaze away and stare down at my plate, my heart pounding harder than it ever has. 

I want to look over again, but I know I can’t. I have to play it cool now, pretend that I was just letting my eyes rest even though I definitely wasn’t. I don’t know who that guy is, obviously. I barely know who anyone is on this campus. But I think I want to find out. I’m not sure how, it’ll probably never happen, but I can’t stop thinking about his face on the way to music theory. 

I sit down in the front of the classroom near the middle. I’m the only one in here so far, so I take this time to get organized - I pull out my planner and jot a few things down, bobbing my foot up and down as I go. I’m so deep into my organizing-turned-journaling that I barely hear the classroom door open and close, but I definitely notice when someone sits down in the desk right beside me. 

I look up and resist the urge to raise my lip in disgust. 

“Hey, what’s up,” Jackson Avery says, looking comically large while sitting in the desk. It’s the kind where the table is attached to the chair, and he can’t get comfortable. He tries resting an ankle on his knee, but there’s not enough room, so he just scoots his butt to the edge of the chair with his legs straight out in front of him. 

“The professor’s gonna trip on you,” I say under my breath, directing my eyes back to my planner. 

He makes a sound that’s a mixture between a laugh and a scoff. “I’m not gonna stay like this,” he says. “And what, are you not gonna say hi?” 

I side-eye him. “Hi.” 

“You live in Clifton, right?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Thought so. Fourth floor, right? You were at the floor meeting.” 

“Yes.” 

“You have goats,” he says, a smile growing on his lips. 

I put my pencil down. It’s obvious I’m not going to get any more writing done. “Yeah, that was me. Why are you sitting here?” 

I don’t know what’s making me so blunt, but I don’t regret it. His presence just irks me. He’s way too confident for his own good. Amelia was right, he is pretty. But he knows it, and that’s the problem. 

“Thought I recognized you,” he says. “That hair’s kinda hard to miss.” I touch one of the curled ends and give him a look with my eyebrows lowered. “What? It’s a compliment,” he says. 

I purse my lips and take my pencil out again, digging in my backpack for the notebook I reserved for this class as more people file in. 

“So do you really have goats?” he asks. “You should name one after me.” 

“Yes, and no,” I say. “I’m not gonna name a goat after you. I don’t know you.” 

“Fair enough,” he says, clicking his pen in and out, in and out. 

“Can you stop?” I snap, looking over at him so fast that my hair flies. 

He raises his eyebrows. “Geez,” he mutters, but stops. He sits up in his desk and leans his elbows forward. “Funny that we’re in this class together. I figure it’ll be pretty easy, right? Well, definitely easy for you, because of your major and everything.” 

“How do you know my major?” I ask defensively. 

“Uh… you told all of us last night,” he says. 

Oh. Right. I was wrong in snipping at him, but I don’t let him know that. 

“I don’t know, I took this shit because I need an easy A. I need to four-point my first quarter so my mom will get off my ass about it.” 

I don’t say anything. I clasp my hands together on my desk and watch the professor come in. She’s a tall woman with dark hair, wearing gray dress pants and a bright fuchsia top with subtle jewelry. She smiles at me when we make eye contact, and I feel happy with myself because of it. Jackson chuckles beside me, but I ignore him. 

She stands at the podium and organizes some papers, setting a few from the pile on the top of the piano. As the rest of the class shows up, she looks out into the small crowd of about 20 people and nods to herself. I already feel good about her. 

Once it’s 11:20 exactly, she starts talking. “Good morning, class. My name is Professor Torres, and this is Music Theory 100. Is everyone in the right place?” She glances around. “I don’t see anyone rushing to the door, so I’m taking that as a yes. Welcome.”

She takes attendance, and I look around to match the faces with names. “Jackson Avery,” she calls. 

“Sup,” Jackson says, raising a peace sign into the air. 

Though he’s not looking, I glare at him and raise my upper lip. Like I said, just insufferable. 

She keeps going through the alphabet. Andrew Deluca, Stephanie Edwards, Alexandra Grey, all in order. Everyone looks shy and moderate, but I’m feeling a confidence boost. This is what I’m good at. Music is what I know. 

“Alex Karev.” 

“Present,” a voice says, laughing. I swivel in my chair to find the source of it, all the way in the back of the classroom. My eyes widen and my stomach twists when I see who it is - the boy from the Student Center. In my music theory class. 

I pivot back around and grip the sides of my desk, willing the blush away from my face as I hear a silence wash over the room. Someone must have missed their name or they aren’t here at all, but that’s not what I’m concentrated on. His name is Alex Karev, which is a great, strong name, and he’s in my class. I have a reason to be around him for an hour and thirty minutes twice a week. This is the best thing that ever could have happened to me - well, within reason. 

I’m in college now. I’m not going to have the same unfortunate luck I had with boys in high school. Alex will notice me, I make that promise to myself. 

“Okay… guess we don’t have an April Kepner…” Professor Torres mutters, scratching something on the roster. 

My brain scrambles back to earth. “Wait, wait, that’s me!” I say, my arm shooting straight up in the air. “I’m April Kepner. Here.” 

Professor Torres gives me a look. “Stay with us, April,” she says with a smile. 

Jackson elbows me, but I ignore him. I don’t even look his way. I don’t want him thinking we’re friends, because we’re not. 

“Okay,” Professor Torres says enthusiastically. “We’re gonna start the first day off with some music trivia. Classical music. How good do you guys think you really are?” 

My body buzzes with excitement. I know a lot about classical music because of both my vocal and piano training. It’s been a huge part of my life since I was five years old, and I can’t wait to show it off. 

“Who wrote a piece called ‘Skittle Alley Trio’?” she asks, scanning the crowd. 

I know right away, but I don’t want to seem too eager. A few people laugh and play on the fact that the word Skittle was used, but no one knows the answer. I raise my hand, and she calls on me. 

“Mozart,” I say. “It’s for piano, clarinet, and viola. I played it at a recital once.” 

Professor Torres raises her eyebrows and looks impressed, which makes me feel good. “What part did you play?” she asks. 

“Piano,” I answer. “I play piano. And I sing.” 

“Very nice,” she says. “Okay, next question. Who could listen to a piece of music once, then write it down from memory without any mistakes?” 

This is so easy. She’s asking the most obvious questions, but no one seems to know. They throw out random guesses that include T-Pain and Carrie Underwood, and I roll my eyes, raising my hand again. 

“Mozart again,” I say. “And fun fact, his friends and family actually called him Wolfie. You know, for Wolfgang.” 

“You got it, April,” Professor Torres says. “Are you guys just gonna let her do all the work? Anyone else even gonna try?” 

A few people laugh, and she gives up on her trivia game, saying that she’ll give us more later in the quarter after we’ve had some time to learn. 

“A big part of this class is group work,” she says. “Some of you are probably happy about that, others not, but either way - it’s happening. I’m going to split you into groups of three today, and over the course of the next ten weeks, that same group is the one you’ll be working on for our weekly projects. This group will last all quarter, so you’ll be getting to know your classmates pretty well. I’d recommend exchanging phone numbers, emails, anything to keep in contact. It’ll be important as our course load gets heavier.” 

My heart drops. There’s almost nothing I hate more in this world than group work, especially with a bunch of people I don’t know. In high school, I could deal with it. Everyone had known each other since we were in pre-k. But I don’t know these people, and they don’t know how I work. More importantly, I don’t know how _they_ work.  

I’m nervous who I’ll be paired up with. I don’t want to be with deadbeats, but I also know that compared to me, technically everyone in this class is a deadbeat. 

“Group 3: April Kepner, Jackson Avery, Alex Karev.” Professor Torres looks out at us and gestures to a spot in the corner of the desks. “Gather right here. Exchange information.” 

Great. I have no idea what to think. I’m happy I’m in a group with Alex, but of  _ course _ Jackson has to be in it, too. He’s going to ruin everything, I already know that. 

“Looks like we’re in a group together,” he says, grinning at me. “Ready, Wolfie?” 

At first I’m puzzled at the name, but then I remember the trivia question I just answered. “Don’t call me that,” I say. “Come on. We’re supposed to gather over here.” 

Jackson and I sit down in two desks in the corner, and Alex takes his time in getting to us. “Group 3?” he asks, slouching into a desk. 

“Yep!” I say enthusiastically. “I’m April. And you’re Alex, right?” 

He gives me a look I can’t interpret. “Uh… yeah,” he says. “What’s up. Listen, I don’t know anything about this crap, so I hope you do.” 

“I do,” I assure him. “Don’t worry. I can help you.” 

He laughs and looks at Jackson knowingly. “I’m past the point of help, babe, but thanks.” 

Babe. Wait, seriously? Did he just call me that  _ that _ casually? I have no idea what my heart is doing, but it feels like it might throb out of my chest. He is  _ so _ cute. His skin is tanned from the summer and his light brown eyes sparkle when he smiles. I’ve never felt these kinds of things for someone else before, but Libby’s told me about them. I think I have the biggest crush on Alex. 

As I try to hide the fact that my hands are shaking, we all exchange numbers. “I’ll start a group text or something,” I say. “We can just text whenever we have questions. Or something. Or anything.” 

“Sounds good,” Jackson says, and I can feel him watching me though I have no idea why. 

“I never answer my texts, but whatever you say, Beethoven,” Alex says. I giggle. I don’t really know why. I can’t help it. 

I’m still buzzing when the class lets out. Alex makes himself sparse as soon as 12:50 hits, but Jackson sticks around while I pack everything into my backpack, though I wish he wouldn’t. 

“So you have a thing for Alex, huh?” he says, watching me hitch my bag up onto my shoulders.

“What?” I say. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yeah, okay,” he says sarcastically. “Because you weren’t totally obvious about it.” 

“Stop.” 

“He called you the wrong nickname and you just went with it,” Jackson says. “Beethoven had nothing to do with anything.” 

“It was funny,” I say. “So I laughed.” 

“Because you like him,” Jackson says. 

“Shut up,” I say. “It’s none of your business.” 

“It kind of is,” he counters back, raising his voice because I’m moving further away. “I don’t wanna have to sit around and watch this for ten weeks!” 

“Mind your own business!” I shout over my shoulder, rolling my eyes. 

This is going to be a long quarter. 


	2. Chapter 2

**JACKSON**

“Dude, yes. She said that. Goats.” 

“You’re fucking with me,” my roommate, Mark Sloan, says as he lies on his bed and twirls his fidget spinner.

“No, I’m not,” I say, flopping down on my bed and pulling out my phone. I check a few texts, seeing that a have a slew of them from girls back home in Boston. I don’t answer any of them, though, I just go on Twitter to see how the Cubs are doing. “Cubs are up, by the way. And yeah. Number one, her face was beet red. It was so bad, dude. I felt  _ bad _ .” 

“You gonna sleep with her?” Mark asks. 

I scrunch up my face. “What? No,” I say. “Come on. Is that seriously all you think about?” 

“Some would say yes,” he replies. “A lot of my ex-girlfriends would say yes.”  

I chuckle. I just met Mark today, but we hit it off. He’s a year older than me, so he stayed upstairs while I went down to the floor meeting. 

“What did you do while I was gone?” I ask. From everything littering his side of the room, it’s clear he didn’t bother with cleaning.  

“The norm,” he says. “Was on YouTube. You’re lucky you came in when you did, because any second sooner and you would’ve seen something you probably don’t wanna see. I… tend to find myself in a certain corner of YouTube a lot.”  

“Don’t need to know any more,” I say, holding one palm up. “Just don’t do it when I’m in the room, and we’re cool. And if you could stay off my bed, that’d be great, too.”  

“Noted,” he says, flashing a thumbs-up. “So other than the goat chick, did you see anyone down there who you’re interested in?” 

“Nah,” I say. “I had an eye out, but not really. You never know, though. The year’s young.”  

“Very, very young,” Mark says. “I saw a few girls today who looked like they could be your type.”  

I raise my eyebrows. “What do you think you know about my type?” I ask.  

“Tall, dark-haired, mysterious,” he says. “I peg you as that kind of man.” 

I shake my head. “I don’t have a type,” I say.

“Wrong,” he argues. “Every man has a type. So do women. Whether you know it or not, you have a type.” 

“Whatever,” I say, waving him off. I pull up my notepad on my phone and go through my schedule. “What classes do you have tomorrow?” I ask. 

“No fucking clue,” Mark says. “I signed up for them way back in… I can’t even remember. I’ll look tomorrow. What do you got?” 

I collapse onto my back. “Music theory at 11:20,” I say. 

I feel his scrutinizing eyes on me. “Music theory what now?” he says. “I thought you were badass pre-med, and now you’re taking a music class?” 

I roll my eyes. “It’s for my GPA,” I say. “I gotta keep it up, or else my mom’s gonna be up my ass about it for the rest of the year. If I start out good, she’ll stop worrying.”  

He chuckles, but I ignore him. 

“Whatever, it’ll be fine,” I say. “It’s gonna be easy. You’re gonna be jealous.” 

Later, when the lights are off and we’re trying to fall asleep, the floor meeting keeps replaying in my head. That goat girl - I can’t remember her name, so she just has to be goat girl - I feel like I know her from somewhere, but I can’t place it. She said she was from Ohio, so I definitely don’t know her from home. She’s not pre-med… I haven’t see her around the fourth floor yet… 

“Oh! We were in the same welcome tour,” I say, relieved that I finally got it. 

“What,” Mark says, sounding almost-asleep.

“Doesn’t matter,” I murmur, turning over on my side. “Don’t worry about it.” 

I wake up around 10am on the first day of classes, feeling well-rested and not nervous at all. I jump in the shower and throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, then mess around on my phone until it’s time to leave. I know DePaul’s campus well - seeing as there’s a building named after my great-grandpa, I’ve been coming here for different events most of my life. I could probably navigate campus with my eyes closed, so it doesn’t take me long to get to the School of Music. 

I’m a little early, which is surprising, but I’d wanted to get out of our room because Mark was singing along to ‘Mirror’ by Justin Timberlake in the shower. And loudly, too. I figured that I was ready and had nothing better to do in sticking around, so I might as well leave with a few minutes to spare. At least I wouldn’t be rushing.

I open the door and notice that the classroom is empty, save for the back of a red-haired head in the middle of the front row. I’m not one to be unfriendly, so I saunter up and deposit my body into the desk beside her, though I don’t fit very well. 

“Hey, what’s up,” I say, breaking the silence. I’d felt her eyes on me anyway, and I know who she is. I recognize her from last night. It’s goat girl. 

I try to make it look like I’m not struggling with how I’m seated, and I end up with my legs straight out in front of me like an idiot. And this isn’t comfortable, either.  

“The professor’s gonna trip on you,” she points out, eyebrows raised at what I’ve done.  

“I’m not gonna stay like this.” I say. “And what, are you not gonna say hi?” 

“Hi,” she says tersely.

I can tell she doesn’t like me, that wouldn’t take a rocket scientist. I’m not sure why, because most girls are drawn to me. It’s not egotistical, it’s simply a fact. I’ve been a chick magnet since puberty, and I’ve thrived off of it. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. 

“You live in Clifton, right?” I ask, trying to lessen the tension. I’m looking at her profile and she’s pretty. Her skin is clear and her hair is full and shiny. I like the way it lays over her shoulders, all curly and stuff. Of course she lives in Clifton, she was at the meeting, but I just want to get some conversation flowing. I don’t like the silence. 

“Yeah.” 

Apparently she does like the silence.  

“Thought so. Fourth floor, right? You were at the floor meeting.” 

“Yes.” 

Jesus, she really doesn’t want to talk to me. I don’t care, though. “You have goats,” I say, knowing that’ll probably get a reaction out of her. 

“Yeah that was me. Why are you sitting here?” she says, putting her pencil down with purpose.  

Well, damn. She bit my head off, but she turned to look at me instead of ignoring me for the whiteboard. And I’m glad for that, at least. “Thought I recognized you. That hair’s kinda hard to miss,” I say. 

Her eyes lose a bit of their luster as she touches the end of one of her curls. Suddenly, I feel bad for the way I said that, I don’t want her to think I’m insulting her. 

“What? It’s a compliment,” I say, trying to make up for it.

For the rest of the class, she really doesn’t give me the time of day, but I tell myself that I don’t care. I don’t know this chick, the fact that she’s ignoring me for her apparent crush - Alex Karev - is not a big deal. Well, it’s not a big deal until the three of us are put into a group together and I have to deal with her tittering giggles, batting eyelashes, and moon eyes.

As we exchange information, she barely stops talking. Alex says about four words, and April is experiencing word vomit if I ever saw it. It makes me feel a bit of secondhand embarrassment, but at the same time I can’t take my eyes off this situation. It’s like a car crash. 

After class is over, I decide to call her out. She already doesn’t like me, so I figure I’m not doing any harm in making that a little bit worse. “So you have a thing for Alex, huh?” I ask. 

She hauls her backpack up onto her slight shoulders and the apples of her cheeks flush. “What? No, I don’t,” she says, much too quickly. So obvious. 

“Yeah, okay,” I say, rolling my eyes. She was basically all over him back in class, or at least she wanted to be. “Because you weren’t totally obvious about it.” 

“Stop,” she says firmly. 

“He called you the wrong nickname and you just went with it,” I say. I had thought calling her ‘Wolfie’ would get a smile or a laugh out of her, but it did neither. Then Alex calls her Beethoven, and she falls all over herself for him. He’s a douche who doesn’t try. What’s so special about him? “Beethoven had nothing to do with anything.” 

“It was funny, so I laughed,” she says, her voice clipped. 

“Because you like him,” I say. Her face is pinched and I can tell she’s bothered, but I’m finding enjoyment out of it. I’m not really sure why. 

“Shut up,” she says. “It’s none of your business.” 

“It kind of is,” I say. “I don’t want to sit around and watch this for ten weeks!”  

She walks away from me, but keeps talking. “Mind your own business!” she throws back at me, one final word. I don’t bother with tossing something back, because she’s out of earshot now. I just roll my eyes and head back to Clifton, because I have some time in between classes and I need to lay down after all of that. 

After my classes are over for the day, I have soccer practice. I met the team a few weeks ago for the pre-season, so it’s not really a big deal. We’re out on the field for two hours and by the time it’s over, I’m sweaty and ready to be at home, showered, and in bed. But on my walk home from Wish Field to Clifton, my phone rings and when I pull it out, I see that it’s my mom.  

If I don’t answer, she’ll keep calling. That’s a fact. So I might as well get it over with. 

“Hey, mom,” I say. 

“Hi, baby,” she says. “Are you tired?” 

“I just got done at practice,” I say. 

“I can hear it in your voice,” she says, that familiar coddling tone returning. A wave of gratitude washes over me for the fact that I’m not at home in Boston right now. “Aw, poor boy. You need to go home and get some rest. How was your first day?”  

“Good,” I say. 

“And how’s your roommate?” she asks.  

“Good,” I respond.  

“Did you eat enough today?” 

“Yeah - mom… seriously?” I say. 

“I know, I know,” she says. “I’m just worried about you. I’ve never had you so far away from me before.” 

“Yeah, except when I was away at boarding school every year…?” I say. 

“This is different and you know it,” she retorts. “Now you’re all big and grown up. You’re not coming home again. You’re a man now. Not a little boy.” 

“Yep…” I say. 

“Oh, Jackson,” she says. “Don’t pretend like you have better things to do than talk to your mother. I miss you! Are you missing home?” My pause tells her everything. “Okay, okay, you don’t have to say yes. But at least tell me this - are you having a good time?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “I had a class in great-grandpa’s building today.” 

“How lovely,” she says. “I love that.” 

We talk until I get to the lobby of my building, and I let out a deep breath once I step out of the elevator on the fourth floor. I go into my room, which Mark is absent from for some reason, and come out again once I’ve taken a shower. There are a few girls in the lobby, so I find my way there to warm up some leftover pizza from last night. 

Two redheads and a brunette are sitting in the armchairs, talking animatedly about something. I hear a familiar voice as my pizza heats up, and I turn around to see that it’s none other than April sitting there with her knees pulled up to her chest. I can’t get the whole of what she’s saying, but I hear the name ‘Alex’ come out of her mouth. 

I try not to listen. I really do. But it’s hard when I’m standing there doing nothing and they’re taking right behind me. 

“Do you think he likes you?” the brunette asks. 

April scoffs. “No, probably not,” she says. Her back is to me, so there’s no way she knows I’m here. That’s better than her knowing, because then she’d probably just glare at me and the three of them would stop talking until I left. It’s not that I’m nosy, but… I am my mother’s son.

“Guys never like me back,” she continues. “I’ve had crushes and stuff, but… it’s just not worth it. He’s not ever gonna see me.” 

“Don’t think like that!” the other redhead encourages. “If you think like that, that’s what’s gonna happen. So don’t do it.”  

April sighs. “I know. I told myself I wouldn’t, but here I am. It’s hopeless. It’s a vicious cycle.”  

“You need to get him to see you somehow,” the brunette says. “I don’t know how, so don’t ask me yet. But somehow. I’ll think of something. 

I roll my eyes and sigh as I walk out, which creates a short silence from the three girls. I had planned on eating in there, but changed my mind after I realized what I’d have to bear witness to. I don’t want to hear them prattle on about Alex - the douche king of all douches - while I try to stomach day-old pizza. I don’t want to throw up everywhere.  

***

During week 2, the weather stops being so insanely hot and I can sit inside the School of Music without dying. Once again, I’m early to class, if only to get away from Mark and the weird videos he watches on YouTube. 

When I push open the door, I hear piano music coming from inside. At first I think it’s Professor Torres and start to inch back out the door, but then I notice that it’s not her - it’s April. 

She has her back faced to me, and she can’t hear the door come open because of the music she’s playing. I sneak in, put my stuff in our group’s corner, then walk up behind her. She honestly doesn’t hear me, she’s so lost in what she’s doing. She only notices me when I slide in next to her on the piano bench. 

“Oh, my god!” she shrieks, fumbling the notes on the keyboard with a clang. “You scared me. Don’t do that. God, Jackson. Don’t do that to people.” 

She holds her heart, and I can’t help but laugh. “Sorry,” I say. 

“You’re not,” she replies.

“You’re right, I’m not,” I say. “What were you playing?” 

“You don’t care,” she says, scooting away from me. 

“Yeah, I do,” I say. “It was pretty.” 

“Fine,” she says. “It’s called Meine Freuden, by Chopin and Liszt.” 

“You were really good at it,” I say.  

“I know,” she says, snapping instinctively. But, much to my surprise, she pulls back. “Sorry. Um… thank you.” 

I nod. “No problem. So… you play a lot? How do you play at school? Since you obviously can’t have a piano in your room.” 

She chuckles a little bit, resting her fingers on the keys. “I come to practice rooms here in this building,” she says. “I play a lot before this class starts, after I eat.” She shrugs. “Usually no one sneaks up on me like you did.” 

“Well, I’m not like most people,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you. We were in the same welcome tour group.” 

“Oh,” she says. 

“I remember you from it,” I say. “Do you remember seeing me?” 

She shakes her head. “Nope.” 

“Seems weird,” I say. “I’ve been told I have a very memorable face.” 

“So you seem to think,” she counters. I roll my eyes, and she gets up off the bench. “Jackson, I have to ask you something. And it’s really kinda weird… and I don’t know what you’ll say. I feel really dumb because I don’t know you that well, or really at all, but-” 

She’s cut off by the sound of the door opening and a trio of girls walks in, all laughing and talking with each other. I look back to her so she’ll finish, but her mouth is closed. 

“After class,” she says. “After class, I’ll-” She cuts herself off from talking to me when Alex walks in the room, and she shoots her arm into the air and waves him over. “Alex!” she calls, though the three of us sit in the same spot every day. “Over here.” 

The project that the three of us are working on has to do with movie scores. What kinds of sounds go with what movies, and what kind of sound we’d put in a movie of our lives. April is working on writing down the plan on a sheet of paper, Alex is leaned back in his chair smacking his gum, and I’m watching them both with sick fascination. 

How can she like this creep?

“So, Alex,” she says, after we’ve decided what movies we’re going to study and have a few minutes of downtime. “What kind of… um, what kind of music do you listen to?” 

His eyes dart to her, then away again. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t really listen to music.” 

“Oh, right,” she says, stumbling now. “I think you’ve said that before. I-I… that’s cool. I can see that." 

“I like R&B,” I say, inserting myself. “Childish Gambino, Mary J. Blige, anything really. You know what, throw some old Britney in there. That’s my shit.” 

April looks at me briefly with a dubious expression on her face, then directs her eyes back to Alex. 

“I’m not huge on listening to music, either,” she says, but I don’t let her finish. 

“April, you live, breathe, and shit music,” I say.  

She narrows her eyes. “Stop,” she hisses. “Not all the time. I can see why he wouldn’t like it. Sometimes it’s… I don’t know. Silence is nice, too.” 

“Yeah,” Alex says pointedly. “Key word there is  _ silence _ .” 

“Oh,” she says, and I feel myself bristle with annoyance. 

“What are your favorite movies, April?” I ask, just to get on Alex’s nerves. If he wants silence, I’ll get her talking. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, fiddling with her mechanical pencil. 

“Come on,” I say. “I know you have at least a few.” 

“I don’t know…” she says again, trailing off. “Well, I do really like Beaches. With Bette Midler?” 

“A classic,” I say. “I cry every time.” 

Her face lights up. “Don’t hate me. But I really, really like Soul Surfer.” 

I sigh deeply. “April.” 

“I know, I know! Carrie Underwood brings it down. But the rest of it is amazing!” 

“I stopped listening after you said Carrie Underwood,” I say. “Give me one more favorite movie, or else I’m… I don’t know. I’m sacrificing you to the DePaul gods. Or Father Holtschneider, whoever I can get to first.” 

She rolls her eyes. Father Holtschneider is DePaul’s president who everyone loves. “You know he wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she says. 

“He’s been celibate a long time…” I say. “The man has some pent up rage.” 

“Jackson!” she scolds, shaking her head. “Don’t say that.” 

“Come on,” I say. “It was funny.” 

She shakes her head.

“A little funny?” I ask. 

“How about you both shut up?” Alex chimes in, scowling. 

April looks at him with apologetic alarm, and I want so badly to kick him from under the table. Her eyes are shining as she watches that douchenozzle, and I want to throttle them both. Alex, because he’s a jerk. April, because she’s blind. 

A while later, she tries to get him to talk again. Someone must have given her the advice to get him talking, because this feels very forced. 

“So, what do you like to do for fun?” she asks. 

Alex is quiet, staring down at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. Mine is full of ideas, actually, and so is April’s, of course. But he’s done nothing. I wish I was surprised.  

“Dude, she’s asking you,” I say, nudging the desk. 

“Me?” he says. “Oh. I don’t know. Play video games. Smoke, hang out, I don’t know.” 

I raise my eyebrows and can’t help but judge him. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a  stoner. My mom would fucking kill me, number one. Number two, I wouldn’t be able to play soccer. Number three, I’m pre-med. I’m not an idiot. 

“Sounds cool,” she says, nodding. I can tell she wants him to return the question, but he won’t. In a situation like this, I would cut in and return it for him, but I don’t feel like picking up his slack anymore. Plus, I want her to see what an ass he is. 

When class is over, I walk out first and April catches up with me. “Hey,” she says, a little scolding, a little breathless. “I said I had something to talk to you about.” 

I had forgotten. I just wanted to get out of there. “Oh, yeah,” I say. “My bad.” 

We don’t normally leave together, but today she follows where I lead. And I’m going to the Student Center to get lunch. 

“So, I mean, obviously I have a crush on Alex,” she says, her voice barely discernible. 

“Oh, really?” I ask. “Didn’t notice.” 

She groans. 

“Continue,” I say. 

“So, whatever. I have… a thing for him, I guess. And you can say whatever you want, I already know what you’re thinking. You don’t hide your facial expressions well,” she says. 

“No one said I was trying,” I say. 

“Okay, well,” she says, then blows some air out of her nose. “You know… what type of girls Alex’s type goes for.” 

“Bimbos,” I say. 

She gives me a nasty glare. “Don’t say stuff like that.” 

“Okay, so what do you want me to say then?” I ask. 

“You can’t say _bimbos_ ,” she says. “That’s so sexist. And misogynist. You know what? Never mind.” 

She starts to walk away, and I realize that I’m being an ass. “April, wait,” I say, fast-walking to catch up with her. “Come on. Slow down. I’m sorry, that was a poor choice of words.” 

“Not very feminist of you,” she says. 

“I…” I clear my throat. I know what I should and shouldn’t do in the eyes of feminism all thanks to my mom, and I definitely knew better than that. I don’t know why I said it. “I know. It was my bad. Just keep talking, obviously you have something you wanna say.” 

She rolls her eyes, seemingly at herself. “The type of girls that Alex’s type goes for aren’t like me. I’m just not ever gonna be like that. I know that. I’m not stupid, or… or blind, or anything like that. I just really want him to…” She makes eye contact with me, then makes a big groaning sound. “It’s stupid, okay? I can’t ask you for this. It’s stupid, and I can’t do it.” 

“Spit it the fuck out,” I say, walking up the stairs to the second floor of the Stu, where all the restaurants are. “Spit it out or I’m pushing you down the stairs.” 

She grumbles. “You’re popular. Okay? You have a personality that people like, though I don’t know why, a nice face-” 

“Best compliment I’ve ever gotten,” I say. “I’m gonna put that in the yearbook. Jackson Avery, nice face.” 

“Can you let me talk? I’m trying to ask if you’ll, I don’t know… I don’t know what I’m trying to say. This was so much easier when Amelia was talking about it…” 

“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend so he’ll get jealous and notice you,” I say plainly. “Simple as that. Am I right?” 

She stops walking when we reach the top of the stairs, and I turn around to face her. Her mouth is gaping open slightly and she’s wringing her hands, unsure of where to center her eyes.  

“Right?” I repeat. 

“I mean… well…” she stammers. “I don’t know if I meant like  _ that _ …” 

“What’s in it for me?” I ask. “If I do it.” 

She straightens up. She has this part planned. “I’ll write all your music theory papers for the whole quarter. The ones we’re supposed to do by ourselves.” 

I nod slowly. “Nice…” I say. 

“But… you know what,” she says. “This is weird. You don’t have to do this. Amelia, when she said it, she made it sound a lot less… arranged marriage.” 

I shrug. “If you don’t wanna do it, I can just give you a thousand bucks for the papers. I’m gonna need those, now that you put it out there.” 

“A thousand…” She shakes her head vehemently. “No. I’m not taking your money.” 

“So, fake dating over real money?” I ask, tapping my chin. “Is it worth it, piano girl?” 

She leans her weight against the railing, then looks down onto the floor below us before glancing back over her shoulder at me. “You’d really do it?” she asks. “You don’t even know me.” 

“Sounds like that’s gonna change,” I say. “I’m more worried about you in this equation. We both know you’re not my biggest fan.” 

“No, that’s - I… um…” she fumbles.

“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s not like this is real, anyway. You don’t have to like me. In fact, you shouldn’t. Make me a promise, and we’ll do this.” 

“What?” she asks.  

“You can’t fall in love with me,” I say, watching her pointedly. 

She rolls her eyes, saying, “Okay, but that means you can’t fall in love with me, either.”

“Agreed.”  

There’s a moment of silence where neither of us are really sure what steps to take next. “So… uh, are you gonna go get food?” she asks. 

“Yeah, I planned on it,” I say. “Did you wanna join me?” 

“Oh, no,” she says. “I had a late breakfast. Or early lunch. Depending on how you look at it.” 

“Okay,” I say. “See you around, then?” 

“Yeah,” she says, then her eyes widen. “Oh, god. Oh, god. I didn’t think it…” She looks urgently over to me. “He’s coming up the stairs. He’s coming up the stairs!” 

I don’t know what to do with myself. “What am I supposed to do?” I hiss. 

“Date me!” she demands, waving me over. “Act natural.” 

Act natural? How the hell am I supposed to act natural? I have to, though. I agreed to it. I just didn’t think that it would happen this soon; I thought we’d at least have a chance to discuss things first. 

I can see the top of Alex’s head ascending the stairs, and before he can get to the top I wind my arm around the small of April’s back. We’re leaning with our elbows on the railing, looking down, and he’s coming up from behind us. With my arm around her, she looks over her shoulder so I can’t see her expression, but most likely she makes eye contact with Alex.  

“He’s looking,” she says, without moving her mouth. “Do something!” 

What do I do? What the fuck do I do? I’ve never fake dated someone before. Has  _ anyone _ ? But I guess I’ve real dated plenty of girls, so I try and think of what I would do naturally. 

I lean in. On the way, I get a whiff of how she smells - light and summery - and I find myself breathing her air. In that same split second, I press my lips to her cheek and hold them there, and she leans into me with a smile on her face - I can feel her cheek swell because of it. 

When I pull away, she turns around instantly. “Do you think he saw?” she asks quietly.  

“I don’t know,” I say. “Can I go get food now? I’m starving.” 

Her head quickly darts to me, her eyes wide. “Oh, sure, yeah. Of course,” she says. “Thanks for, uh… thanks. For doing this.” 

I nod and shrug. “Yeah… no problem. Uh, hey. Do you think we should talk about this whole thing? Like rules and whatnot?” 

“Rules?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes skim around the room as she turns over what I’ve said. “Sure, probably. Do you wanna stop by the lounge tonight?” 

“Sounds good,” I say.

“I’ll make sure Addison and Amelia aren’t there,” she says. “That way me and you… we can just talk.” 

“Alright,” I say. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

That night, I don’t have time to change after soccer - it’s getting late because my teammates kept me past the time I wanted to leave. So now, not only am I sweaty and gross on the way to meet April in the fourth floor lounge, I’m hungry too. 

But I guarantee she’s the type of person who goes to bed early, and I don’t want to keep her up. She told me that she has classes in the morning at 8am. And that sounds like hell. So I quicken my pace a little to see the back of her ponytail, sitting in the lounge alone as she looks down at something on her lap. 

I trot in, my big athletic bag over my arm, then let it slump to the floor. That makes her jump and hold the paper that she’d been looking at, which I can now see is sheet music. 

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” I ask, plopping down in a chair across from her. 

She tucks it away into a folder carefully. “Oh, nothing,” she says. “Just a piano piece.” 

I stretch my arms over the back of the chair. “I think I could play piano, if I tried,” I say. 

She rolls her eyes. “It’s harder than it looks.” 

“Yeah, sure. But I’m good at a lot of stuff. I think I could do it.” 

“Well, I’m not going to teach you,” she says. “I’m already going to hold up one end of this deal, and that’s doing your papers. That’s enough.” 

I smile a little bit, wiping the excess sweat that hasn’t already dried from my forehead. “Fine, fine,” I say. 

“You just came from soccer,” she notes. “You play? Well, obviously. Obviously you play. I just didn’t know.” 

“Yeah,” I say. “I play forward.” 

“Fits,” she mutters. “You’re very forward.” 

“Good one,” I say. “So, are we-” Interrupting my sentence, my stomach growls loud enough to be heard between the both of us. “Goddamn, sorry,” I say. “I didn’t get a chance to eat.” 

“Oh, are you hungry?” she asks. 

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I’ll be fine.” 

“You were just at practice,” she says. “You have to be dying if the last time you ate was when I left you at the Stu. Here,” she says, tossing me a Luna bar from her purse. “Just to tide you over.” 

“Hey, thanks,” I say, ripping it open. “So, as I was saying. I think we should have some ground rules for all this. If we don’t, it’s gonna get messy.” 

“Messy how?” she asks, crossing her legs. 

“Messy, just…” I eye her. I can tell she doesn’t know, so I don’t want to tell her. “It just would,” I say. “Trust me. We need to have rules.” 

“Okay,” she says. “Here are mine. I’m only writing big papers for you. Reflections and stuff, I won’t do. They’re way too easy. But the ones that hold a lot of weight, I’ll write those. And I know how to make it sound unlike myself, so you don’t have to worry about getting caught.” 

“Okay…” I say. “The rules between us should be something like… we hold this up until it grabs Alex’s attention or until the end of the quarter. After music theory ends, dude, you probably won’t ever see him again.” 

She tips her head back and forth. “It’s a small campus,” she says. 

“He’ll disappear, I guarantee you,” I say. 

“Fine,” she says. “That’s reasonable.” 

I sigh. “And this can’t just be… a thing in front of Alex, you know.” 

Her eyes light up. She does know. “If we just do it front of him, he’s going to catch on that it’s fake,” she says. “It has to be fake for everyone.” 

I nod slowly. “Are you okay with that?” 

She narrows her eyes. “Uh, I asked you to do this, remember?” she snaps. “Are  _ you _ okay with it?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t mind. I’m getting my papers written, that’s all I’m thinking about.” 

“Good,” she says. “So out in the open, we’re officially dating. As far as anyone knows. What’s our story?” 

“Our story?” 

“We have to have a story,” she insists, leaning forward. “How we met. Who asked who. That kinda stuff.” 

I raise my eyebrows. “We met in music theory,” I say. “Well, technically we met on the welcome tour. But you don’t remember me.” 

“I didn’t even see you.” 

“My point,” I say, laughing. “I don’t know, we met in music theory. I… thought you were hot, gave you my number. But you didn’t call me.” 

She scoffs. “Why wouldn’t I call you?” she says. 

“Would you?” I ask. 

She pushes her lips out and sits back in her chair, one arm on either armrest, which opens up her body. “Probably not,” she admits. 

“See,” I say. 

“Whatever,” she says, brushing me off. “I didn’t call you, then what?” 

“I mean, we live on the same floor. I cornered you and won you over with my irresistible Avery sparkle.” 

“I’m going to vomit.” 

“Oh, shut up,” I say. “It’s believable.” 

“For who?” she counters. 

“Plenty of people, just go with it,” I say.  

She narrows her eyes. “I’m gonna say I made you wait.” 

“It’s week 2,” I say. “How long could you have possibly made me wait for, 24 hours?” 

“Yes,” she says. 

I laugh and shake my head. “What about PDA?” I ask. 

She seems blanched by the question. Her eyes flit everywhere in the room except for on mine, and she can’t seem to come up with an answer - her mouth keeps opening and closing with no sound escaping. 

“Are you okay with it?” I ask. 

“I mean, I should be,” she says, sounding very unsure. 

“I’m not not sure how this is gonna work if PDA isn’t involved,” I say. “You know?” 

“Y-yeah…” she says, hands clasped together. “Yeah, I’m good with it.” 

“So… what,” I say. “Holding hands, arms on you, hair touching… kissing?” She glances at me briefly. “Have you ever kissed somebody before?” 

She jumps to her own defense. “Of course I have,” she barks. 

“Don’t bite my head off, Jesus,” I say. “I was just asking.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, biting the inside of her lip as she stares at the carpet that must have become very interesting all of a sudden. “One person,” she says. “Once. Behind the blue slide in fifth grade.” 

Oh, fuck. She’s never kissed anyone - at least not for real. 

“Are you… are you sure you wanna do this, April?” I ask. “I don’t wanna-” 

“It was my idea, I wanna do this,” she says. “I’m just gonna need practice.” She rubs her temples with her thumb and pointer finger. “God, that sounds so stupid. But… I just don’t wanna look like an idiot when I’m kissing you in front of Alex.” 

When. _When_. She plans on kissing me in front of Alex. Jesus Christ, this is going to be a mess. But she won’t hear that, so I don’t bother with saying it again. At this point, I’m just along for the ride.  

“So we should practice now,” she says. She’d been talking, but I was too much in my own head to hear anything before this. 

“Now?” I ask, face pinched. “I’m all gross and sweaty.”

“Oh, who cares,” she says. “Sweat doesn’t scare me.” 

I sigh and look at her determined face - her eyebrows set in a low, straight line and a little portion of her lower lip pulled into her mouth. “Seriously?” I ask. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, we can’t just do it here in the open,” I say. “That’s weird.” 

She stands up, bringing her purse and music folder with her. “Come to my room,” she says. “I have a single.” 

I don’t know what makes me follow her, but I do. She unlocks her door and I’m met with the most put-together, organized, and cleanly-decorated dorm room I’ve ever seen. Well, at least in comparison to mine and Mark’s.  

“You can sit down wherever,” she says. “The bed’s fine. It’s made.” 

The room isn’t big, I can see that it’s made. I chuckle a little bit at her telling me that, but she ignores it. She sets her purse down, kicks off her shoes, and sits down near her pillows with a couple bounces as I stand across from her. 

“Taylor Swift,” I say, noting her posters. “Hmm.” 

She eyes me. “What?” 

“Nothing,” I say, sitting down beside her. “Just… really, two from the 1989 era? When you and I both know that Speak Now and Red blew that out of the water.” 

She laughs. She tries to stop herself, but she can’t help it. “Okay, true,” she says, and I think it might be the first time that she’s ever willingly agreed with me. She clears her throat after she’s done giggling, sits up straight, and turns her body towards me. “So, let’s practice.” 

“I just wanna make sure you’re sure…” I say. “This is kinda like your first kiss, I-” 

She rolls her eyes. “I already told you, I’m sure,” she says. “That stuff doesn’t matter. First kiss, so what? I’m in college. I’m not a kid anymore. Are you gonna show me how to do it, or what?” 

I take that as my cue to shut up. “Alright then,” I say. “Uh…” This is going to be more awkward than I thought. Every time I’ve kissed a girl before this, it hasn’t been so thought out and planned. But with April, everything seems to be that way. I’ve come to notice that she really enjoys being in control. “C’mere,” I say. 

She scoots closer and I smell that summery scent again. I’m suddenly self-conscious about how I must smell - grassy and sweaty from being outside - but she doesn’t react, even if I do smell bad. 

“I wanna make it look natural,” she says. “So let’s just do it. A lot.” 

I take her face in my hands, and it’s smaller than I anticipated. Her jawbones, resting in my palms, feel so delicate. “You can put your hands anywhere,” I say. “You don’t have to think about it. Just let them chill somewhere.” 

She doesn’t listen to me, of course. She keeps them clasped together on her lap - which, I guess is anywhere, but I meant on my body. It doesn’t look natural if she’s all closed off. 

I sigh with a hint of annoyance and remove my hands from her face so I can take her wrists and move them to my shoulders. “Here,” I say. “Leave them here, let them do what they want. Just go with what you feel.” 

“Uh, okay,” she stammers, and I move my hands back to cup her cheeks. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” I tell her. “Don’t keep your eyes open. That’s weird.” 

She giggles a little bit, but I steal the smile from her lips before it can go far. I press my mouth to hers and feel her fingers dig into my shoulders slightly as she takes in a deep, cleansing breath through her nose. I swipe my thumbs over her cheekbones, feeling her eyelashes flutter against my skin, and my heart starts beating a mile a minute when I take notice of how soft her lips are as they move over mine. 

We pull apart and her face is flushed. “My first real kiss,” she breathes with a smile, and I watch her eyes dart down to my mouth. “Let’s do it again.” 

So we do. Her hands move from my shoulders to either side of my neck, where I feel the cold pads of her fingers trace shapes across my skin. Instead of cupping her jaw, my hands trail down to her waist, which I hold easily and pull her a bit closer to me. When I do that, she makes a small sound into my mouth, so I drag my tongue across her lower lip and she opens her mouth so I can slip it inside. 

I pull away almost as soon as I do, though. “Are we gonna French in front of Alex?” I ask. 

“I don’t know,” she says, panting a little. Her pupils are huge - I have no idea what that means, but it’s a little scary and a lot hot. “You did it. 

“Yeah… sorry,” I say. “Got carried away.” 

“Yeah.” 

We avoid looking at each other for a moment, then she glances at the clock. “I should… get ready for bed,” she says. “Early classes tomorrow.” 

“Right, right,” I say, standing up. “Uh, see you Wednesday.”

She raises one hand in a wave and heads toward the bathroom connected to her room. “Wednesday,” she repeats. “Be ready to, you know, do it. In front of him. Like, date me.” 

“I know,” I say, and she opens the door to the bathroom just as I’m leaving. It sounds like her suitemates are in there, because I can hear her talking to them. 

“April! Your lips are so red… what the hell were you just doing?” one of them asks. 

“I- uh…” she stammers. I linger in the doorway so I’ll be able to hear. “I was, uh, I was making out with my boyfriend, if you must know,” she says. 

I smile, one hand on the doorknob. “Night, babe!” I call out. 

The last thing I hear is all of them bursting into surprised giggles.  

 


	3. Chapter 3

**APRIL**

I never knew it was possible to feel so many things at once.  

While Jackson is kissing me, my body feels like it’s burning. My nerve endings are tingling on fire, and my pulse is hammering so hard at every point possible.

I feel his thumbs on my cheekbones, soft and graceful. I keep my eyes closed like he said to, but I can’t help it that my eyelashes keep fluttering. I’m so tempted to open them and see what he’s doing with his face, but I resist.

I wasn’t ready to be done when we pull apart. I don’t have any control over the words that come out of my mouth, either. “My first real kiss,” I say, all breathless. I don’t even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed or inexperienced. I enjoyed the feeling of his mouth on mine way too much for that. I look from his eyes down to his lips, which are parted just slightly. “Let’s do it again.”

When he kisses me again, my hands move to either side of his neck. His skin is warm beneath my touch and a little sweaty, but I don’t mind. Actually, I kind of like it. He holds my waist firmly in his hands; he’s almost able to wrap his fingers around the whole thing, and when he yanks me a little closer I can’t help the sound that escapes me. Seemingly propelled by it, he licks my lower lip and that makes my belly tighten - so I open my mouth to invite his tongue inside.

But just as he’s about to French kiss me, he pulls back. “Are we gonna French in front of Alex?” he asks, all dumbfounded.

“I don’t know,” I say. The fact that my hands are still lingering on his shoulders is not lost on me. “You did it.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Got carried away.”

I don’t know what that means. I mean, I know what it means in theory, but in reference to me… kissing me, no. It’d be impossible for a boy to get carried away with me.

But I say “yeah” anyway. 

There’s a weird silence between us that I wish wasn’t happening. I don’t want things to be awkward - this is supposed to feel real. No one’s going to believe our fake relationship if it looks like this, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. I know it’s going to take time, and I can’t expect so much out of him. He’s already doing this for me out of the goodness of his heart, which I never thought there was much of. Maybe I’m wrong. But maybe I’m not, who knows? I barely know him.

“I should… get ready for bed,” I say, giving him an out. “Early classes tomorrow."

“Right, right,” he says, and stands up off my bed. “Uh, see you Wednesday.”

I don’t miss the way his glinting eyes dart to my Taylor Swift posters one last time. I get up off my bed, too, and start to walk to the bathroom. I hear Addison and Amelia in there, probably getting ready for bed, too. But we don’t mind doing it together.

“Wednesday,” I say. “Be ready to, you know, do it. In front of him. Like, date me.”

“I know,” he says, a smile in his eyes. I didn’t want to be annoying by saying it, but I can tell that it didn’t bother him. If anything, he looks amused. Typical. He always has that amused look on his face and I can never place its reason. 

I turn into the bathroom and both girls turn to look at me. “Hey,” I say.

“April!” Addison says, eyes wide. "Your lips are so red… what the hell were you just doing?”

I softly press my fingertips to my lips, loving the fact that I can still feel his pressure on them. “I- uh…” I say, and wonder how I should explain this. Pretending that Jackson is my boyfriend had been Amelia’s idea, but now I don’t want to let her in on it. Jackson and I had just agreed - it has to be fake for _everyone_. No one can know except for us. “I was, uh, making out with my boyfriend, if you must know.”

It makes me jump when I hear Jackson’s voice; I thought he’d left. “Night, babe!” he calls out.

My face burns red-hot and the three of us burst into excited giggles. I’ve never laughed like this over something like that with friends before, this is totally new territory. And I have to say, I really like it. I like the feeling of being included.

“You’re fucking joking,” Addison says.

Amelia narrows her eyes. “So… is that… legit?” she asks.

My cheeks are still burning, but I hope she chalks it up to the fact that I’m all worked up over my very real relationship with Jackson. “Yes,” I say. I don’t want to elaborate, because I know I’ll start rambling. And that’s a dead giveaway that it’s anything but legit.

“Even though I was just saying-” 

“No, he asked me out,” I cut in, leaning on the door.

“He… did?” Addison asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes…” I say. “Don’t sound so surprised. Geez.”

“How?” she continues.

“He, uh…” I blink a few times and reach for my toothbrush. “I mean, you know he’s in my music theory class. He asked for my number, but I made him wait. I finally gave it to him, and he… he asked me out the next day.”

“When did this all happen?” Amelia says. “Why didn’t you tell us about it?”

I don't answer for a while, purposefully stalking as I brush my teeth. “I was busy,” I say, holding my hair back as I spit into the sink. I tap my toothbrush on it, then set it in its holster. “I’m tired. Goodnight!”

I retreat to my room and turn my lights off, flopping down on my bed with my knees bent. I rest my hands on my belly and close my eyes, remembering what Jackson’s hands and lips felt like on me. I imagine them as Alex’s and my stomach tumbles around while I get a stupid grin on my face.  I wonder what he’ll feel like with his hands all over me; I’m getting excited just thinking about the unpredictability of it all. I’m usually not one to get excited about that, but for some reason I am. I don’t know what it is about Alex that draws me to him - maybe the fact that he’s so very, very not my type - but it’s overwhelming all the same.

I bite my lower lip and run my tongue over it, unable to stop thinking about Jackson’s mouth. I trace the hem of my cloth pajama shorts, then the band of my underwear, taking a deep breath as I go. I felt all sorts of built-up tension in my body, and I think I know a way to get that out, but I’m just way too...  scared.

I want to. I think I do, at least. I’ve never touched myself before, but Libby’s talked about it when she’s being especially crude. She says it feels good, it makes you forget about everything you’re worried about for at least a second, almost like sex. She was always the one I’d talk to about sex, well… always the one I _planned_ to talk about sex with. I’ve never really had a reason before.

I wish it wouldn’t be weird to call her and ask her how to do it. I shake my head and raise my lip in disgust as I think about how that phone call would go. That’s both disturbing and disgusting, and I wish I’d never thought it.

I adjust the way my underwear is sitting on me, too scared to go any further. I can’t do it and now, I won’t. I lost my gumption. But still, I fall asleep thinking about hands on me. Hands that begin as Alex’s, and morph into Jackson’s as I drift deeper into unconsciousness.  

*** 

On Tuesday after classes are done, I’m sitting on my bed doing homework when I hear three confident knocks on my open door. “Hey,” a familiar voice says.

I look up from my work and see Jackson there, wearing cargo shorts and a DePaul t-shirt. He looks showered, definitely cleaner than the last time I saw him. 

“Sup, piano girl,” he continues.

“Hey…” I say, pushing my papers off to the side. Without him having to preface it with anything, I can tell he wants to say something. “What are you doing?”

He sighs and sits down on my bed without being invited. I squint at him, but he doesn’t notice, so I just move my papers out of his way so he has more room.

“Just chilling out,” he says. “Just got back. Didn’t feel like going to my room after this morning when my roommate was trying to spin his stupid ass fidget spinner on his forehead.”

“He’ll take an eye out,” I say, one knee bent on front of me with my notebook resting on it.

“Yeah, something like that,” Jackson says. “And I was thinking. Like, this whole day. Dude, we like… we made out last night. Like, legit. We did.”

“Yeah…” I trail off, finding it hard to meet his eyes.

“And I barely know you.”

“Look, Jackson, you agreed to-” 

“I know,”  he says. “Calm the fuck down, I know. Let me get two words out. What I’m saying is, I barely know you. You barely know me. We should… get to know each other. You know, before I’m all in your pants to impress this piece of shit.”

“Okay, you don’t have to say it like _that_ ,” I say.

“How else would you put it?” he asks, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows pointedly.

“I don’t know. You just put things in the worst way.” 

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks, out of the blue.

“Wha- what? What does that have to do with anything?” I sputter.

“What’s your favorite color, April? It’s a simple question.”

“I don’t know, purple, I guess. No, blue. I guess either of them,” I say.

“Favorite holiday?” he asks.

“Christmas, obviously.”  

“Favorite family member?”

“I love my mom, but my little sister Alice is cool, too. Libby is okay, she’s a really good listener… wait. Why aren’t you answering these questions, too?” I ask.

“You’re not asking me them,” he says back.  

I push my lips out and study him, sitting across from me so very content. “What’s your favorite show, then?” I ask.

“Too hard,” he replies. “I can’t choose.” 

“You watch a lot of TV?” I ask.

“Netflix and chill,” he says. “We should do it sometime.”

I scoff. “Whatever, next. Are... you ticklish?”

He scrunches up his face. “What kind of fucked up question is that?” he asks.

“It’s not…” I say widening my eyes to insinuate the word I won’t say. “ _Are_ you?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “No one’s tickled me since I was like, 5. Are you?” 

“No,” I answer, really quickly.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s the first time I’ve noticed them do that. “Lying ass,” he says.

“No,” I insist.

“Yes,” he counters back. 

“No,” I argue. 

He shakes his head. “Fine, prove it then.” He pushes my homework off the bed and before I have a chance to protest, he’s digging at my waist with his fingertips. I hate it, but I can’t keep myself from laughing. 

“Stop, stop!” I shriek, trying hopelessly to shove him off. I’m weak from laughter, though, and it does no good. “Jackson, stop!”

“Not ticklish, huh?” he prods, moving from my waist up to my neck. My neck has to be the worst spot, the most ticklish of them all. I bend so my chin hits my chest to try and stop his fingers, but it doesn’t do any good. I wriggle on my back to try and fight him off, but he’s relentless and I eventually have to give into my fit of giggles.

When he finally stops, we’re both breathless and I notice that he’s on top of me, one thigh between my legs. I can feel his stomach moving as he breathes against me, and I wet my lips to speak while he moves a tendril of my bangs out of my eyes.

“Should we practice,” I breathe. I find myself wanting to clench his leg between my thighs because that tension is back again, but I refrain.

“Sure,” he says, and doesn’t waste a moment before tilting his head and pressing his lips to mine at an angle.

I let my eyelids flutter closed as he moves his mouth over mine, then I feel his hand move to my hip and plant itself there, running his thumb over the point of the bone. From that small motion, I involuntarily lift up a bit so our pelvises bump together, which forces a small noise from him that I enjoy way too much.

I don’t know where I should put my hands. Yesterday, he told me to put them anywhere, but now… I don’t know where is okay. While taking in a breath through my nose, I lift my hands to his sides and rest my fingers on the back of his ribs, as lightly as I can. Even though his hands on me are nowhere near light and hesitant, I can’t let myself go there yet. I want to, but something is holding me back.

I’m still self-conscious because none of this is real. When Jackson kisses me, he makes me a feel a ton of things. And one of those things he makes me feel is… wanted. He makes me feel wanted, even though I know I’m not. This is all fake, this is all because I’m writing his stupid papers.

I try to force that thought out of my mind, though, and focus back on what we’re practicing for. The reality of this whole thing. Just as I’m about to start a conversation, he pulls his lips away from mine and kisses the corner of my mouth, then the slope of my jaw, then he nudges my chin up with his nose so he can go lower and kiss my neck.  

I take in a shaky breath. I had no idea this was going to be part of our practicing, and the heat between my legs is past the point of ignoring now. I find myself allowing my thighs to grip him, and I wonder if he notices. I’m guessing he does, because he pushes his leg up a little bit so it’s tucked tight between mine. Right where I want it.

The pressure feels good. It’s what I need. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. I move my pelvis against him and feel his lips curve up on my skin as he fiddles with the hem of my shirt, slipping his hand underneath it a few moments later to rest on my belly. 

His thumb runs over a scar that I’ve had for so long that I forget I have it. “What’s this,” he murmurs, and I feel his tongue gently touch my pulse point when he pronounces the ‘th’ in ‘this.’ It gives me butterflies. 

“My scar,” I say, and he chuckles.

“Yeah, I can feel that,” he says. “What from?”

“Oh,” I say, and he moves his head lower so he can kiss the open V of my t-shirt. “I… it… Libby,” I say, stumbling over my words because of the way his lips feel on my skin. I’ve never been touched like this before, and I can’t help the way my hips are moving against his leg. It’s the only thing that’s giving me any sort of relief - that friction. “No, Kimmie. Uh… we have this… this ravine by our house. When we were growing up we used to play in it. I was…” My eyelids flutter shut as he sucks the skin of my neck between his teeth and releases it with a wet popping sound. “I was 8. Kimmie was 6, Alice was little-little. Libby was… bigger… Kimmie shoved me and I fell on a rock. I bled everywhere. Libby carried me home, both of us were covered in blood.” I let out a shaky breath. “12 stitches.”

Before I know it, his face is my waist-level and his lips are pressed against the scar.

“ _Oh_ ,” I murmur, tentatively lifting one hand to rest on the back of his skull. When his tongue traces the raised ridges of it, I don’t think I could be clenching his body any tighter between my thighs.

“Fucking Kimmie,” he says, smiling against my belly.

Suddenly, the bathroom door conjoining mine and my suitemates’ room bursts open and Amelia stands in its wake. “April? April. Where are- oh, shit, April!”

Jackson and I clumsily break apart from one another, but our limbs get mixed up together and Amelia just stands there laughing.  

“Addison, April and her boyfriend were dry-humping!” Amelia calls out.

“Told you not to go in without knocking,” Addison says back, her voice muffled by the room between us.

“ _Amelia_ …” I say, eyes wide. My face must be about ready to burst into flames.

“What? There’s nothing wrong with it. Hi, Jackson,” she says, sticking out her hand. “I’m Amelia. I live next door. I’ve heard a _lot_ about you, handsome.”

Jackson shakes her hand. I want to crawl into a hole and die.

“I was coming in here so I could invite you out tonight,” she says. “It’s really fucking hot, and there’s this great pool in Bucktown at Holstein Park. It’s still open, and Owen said we should go. He said I could invite whoever, so I thought of you. Addie’s coming, obviously me, Owen’s bringing a couple friends… you could bring Jackson.” 

My eyes flit over to him, and he looks interested. “I’d be down,” he says. “Anything to beat the heat.”

“Cool!” Amelia says. “Owen’s from here, so he knows how to get here. We’re gonna meet in front of U-Hall in, like, an hour.” She turns on her heel, then looks back over her shoulder. “And don’t worry, I’ll lock this on my way out. Don’t forget protection, kids!”

The door shuts and locks and we sit there in silence, the air charged between us. I realize that I never fully agreed to go on this outing, that they both kind of just did it for me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That was awful.”

 “Wait, what part?” he asks. 

“Oh, oh no,” I say, moving my hands. “No, I meant Amelia. You, before…” I pause. “You were great.”

His lips curve up in a sly grin. “So were you,” he says.  

***

“Yes. You are so wearing that.”

“No,” I say. “No, I am so not.”

Addison looks at me in the mirror as she holds my shoulders; my deflated, curved-in shoulders that I can’t seem to hold confidently. “Look at you. April, look at this fucking rad-ass body that you’ve been hiding from us! You are wearing this goddamn swimsuit if I have to force you into it.”  

I sigh and stare at myself some more. I hadn’t brought a swimsuit to college because that only one I own is plain black, a hand-me-down from Libby, and see-through on the butt now. Because of this, both Addie and Amelia forced me into one of Amelia’s bikinis - it’s pink and white with a floral pattern, and I wouldn’t have been caught dead in it at home. The bra cuts deep and shows the swells of my breasts and the bottoms sit way too low.

“I can’t wear this,” I say, voicing my thoughts.

“I don’t care what you say,” Amelia says, throwing a cover-up at me. “You’re wearing it. We’re leaving. Jackson’s boner is going to be uncontrollable.”  

My cheeks get hot. “Amy,” I say. “Don’t say stuff like that.” 

“What?” she says. “Why? It’s true. Look at you. You’re fuckin’ sexy, April. Stop denying it.”

I glance at myself sideways in the mirror as I pull the black cover-up on over my head. I’m not about to agree with her, but I know fighting is no use. She has it in her head that I’m wearing it, so I guess I’m wearing it.

We walk out of Addison and Amelia’s room and see Jackson waiting in the fourth floor lounge, wearing board shorts and a tank top.

“Grab him,” Addison says, and pushes the button for the elevator.

I clear my throat, eyes flitting from my friends over to my ‘boyfriend.’ “Babe,” I call out, but my voice is weak. “Um, babe,” I say again. He’s either not hearing me, or the term of endearment isn’t registering. “Jackson!” I say, one final time.

His head snaps over and a smile appears on his face. “Oh, hey,” he says, walking over. “Nice cover-up.”  

“She’s wearing a bikini,” Amelia says, emphasizing the word obnoxiously.

“Nice,” Jackson says, and briefly touches the small of my back as we get into the elevator, making sure I’m in. My skin tingles where he’s touched but, I play it cool. It’s hot outside, and his hands are cool from being inside the air conditioning. Of course my skin tingled.

The ride to Bucktown is long. Amelia tells us that Owen and his friends are going to be late but they’ll meet us there. When we get to the pool, Jackson wraps one arm around my belly and lifts me off the ground, pretending like he’s going to throw me in.

“Stop, stop!” I squeal. “Put me down. I still have my cover-up on.”

“That needs to change,” he says, sitting down on a lounge chair and taking me with him, depositing my body right on his lap.

“Come on, April. Take it off,” Amelia says.

I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me, especially Jackson’s.

“Show him how hot you are!” Addison encourages, and it gives me a boost of confidence, though I’m not sure where I dug it up from.

I try to get up from his lap to take it off, but he tightens his arms around my waist. I look down at him in confusion, but all he does is grin.  

“Fine, dummy,” I say, and pull the cover-up off over my head right where I sit. When it’s off, Amelia lets out a low whistle and I can’t look at anyone in the face.  

“Is that a scar?” Addison asks.  

“It’s from her sister,” Jackson says, cutting in for me. He presses a soft kiss to my upper arm before finishing with, “Pushed her into a ravine when she was 8.”  

Amelia raises her eyebrows. “Your boyfriend sure has a good memory,” she says.

“Well, I only told him that a few hours ago,” I say, wrapping an arm around the back of Jackson’s shoulders. His skin is smooth and radiating heat - even though it’s early evening, the sun is still shining brightly down on us.

I look at Jackson, whose arms are comfortably looped around my waist. We spend a minute just searching each other’s eyes, silently communicating, when I hear Amelia gasp.  

“Owen’s here,” she says, then stands up. “Hey, Owen! Over here!”  

I see a pale redhead heading our way, smiling at my friend. He turns to look over his shoulder to wave on someone behind him, and when they get a little closer, I can see that the person who Owen brought is no one else but Alex.

“Fuck,” I hear Jackson say under his breath.

My stomach twists. He’s probably mad because he’s going to have to try extra hard to keep up our ruse because Alex is here, and he doesn’t want to. I don’t blame him, I don’t want to either. But I do want Alex to notice me, so we have no choice.

“You made it,” Amelia says, standing close to Owen when she talks. She’s smiling bigger than I’ve seen her smile all week.

“Had to stop and get a drink on the way here,” Owen says. “And Alex took forever. Oh, yeah. By the way, this is my friend, Alex. Alex, this is…”

Amelia finishes for him, since none of us have met Owen yet. “Addison, my roommate. April, my suitemate, and her boyfriend, Jackson. He lives in Clifton, too.”

“Wait,” Alex says, looking at me and Jackson. “You two are dating now?”

I lean my side against Jackson’s chest and he rests one hand on my hip and the other in the bend of my knee. “Uh, yeah-” I begin.

“Yeah, we are,” Jackson says, his thumb moving in circles over my skin.  

“For like what, a day?” Alex says.

“Does it matter?” Jackson argues, hitching my body up closer to him like I weigh nothing at all.

“Aren’t they cute?” Addison asks.

“Yeah, something like that,” Alex murmurs, then strips off his shirt. While he’s not looking my way, I take the opportunity to let my eyes roam over his defined chest. I find myself holding my breath, then I look away. For some reason, it doesn’t feel right to do that while I’m sitting on Jackson’s lap, as close to him as I can possibly be.  

“Should we swim?” Amelia says, clapping her hands together.

“That’s the only reason I came,” Alex grumbles, stretching his arms in front of him. “I’m getting in.”

“Such a pleasant piece of shit,” Jackson says, standing up and bringing me with him. Alex glances back at us when we get up, and I feel his eyes on my body. I suddenly feel really exposed, but I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking. Does he like what he sees? Is my body really as good as Addison and Amelia said it was?

Jackson carries me bridal style and walks towards the pool, looking down at me mischievously. “Ready to get in?” he asks.

“What do you-”

Before I can finish my question, Jackson tosses me in the deep end and I disappear into the silent underwater. I pinch my eyes shut tight and blow air bubbles from my nose, paddling fluidly to rise back to the top.

“Jackson Avery!” I shriek, sputtering water from between my lips.

He laughs, then jumps in himself. Once he’s above the surface again, he shakes the water from his short, curly hair and wades over to me. “What?” he says. “Calm down, babe. It was a joke.”

I smack him on the shoulder. “I hate you,” I say. “You could’ve warned me, at least.”

“And what fun would that’ve been?” he says.  

I glance over Jackson’s shoulder and see Alex behind him, watching us interact. Because of his eyes on us, I wind my arms around Jackson’s shoulders and my legs around his waist - he can touch the bottom and I can’t, so it’s easy for him to stand. Picking up what I’m doing, he supports the small of my back with one arm and holds my jaw with his free hand, kissing me slowly with a smile on his face.

I hear a low whistle from the side of the pool, and see Owen watching us.

“Get a room,” Amelia calls out, but she’s grinning.

I start to blush. “Swim me over to the ledge,” I tell Jackson. “I wanna sit on the side.”

I pull myself up to the side and Jackson stays close, resting my feet on his shoulders and wrapping his fingers around my bony ankles. “I forgot to tell you how amazing you look in your swimsuit,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to say that,” I say. “He’s not even paying attention.”

“I know,” he says. “I just…want you to know.”

I feel a vein in my neck twitch and I’m not sure how to interpret what he’s saying. “Oh,” I say. “Thanks.”

He runs his fingertips up my calves and holds them in his hands, gazing up at me while I look down at him. “Avery,” I hear Owen say, and Jackson’s head snaps over. “Stop making googly eyes at your girlfriend and come throw the ball with us.”

Jackson laughs. “Fine,” he says, then looks back at me. “You good here?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “You should go play. I’ll watch.”  

I stay where I’m sitting on the edge while I watch Jackson throw perfect spirals with the football that Owen brought. His arms are so perfectly sculpted that it’s almost unbelievable, and he smiles at me when he makes a good catch, which is pretty much every time.

“You’re such a superstar,” I tell him after they’re done, as he pulls himself up to sit next to me.  

“I know,” he says, reaching out his hand to help me to my feet. It’s starting to get dark, and the park closes at sunset. But before that happens, the six of us sit at a table with an umbrella in the middle and order lemonades. Alex jokes about trying to order something stronger, but he didn’t bring his fake ID. I smile and laugh, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me. I chalk that up to the fact that it’s working - that we are actually making him jealous, and I get extremely happy. This is going just the way I planned.

Jackson pulls me on his lap again and slaps my butt playfully, which makes me clench my thighs together. Alex’s eyes flit up from where they’d been on his phone, and I feel like every single bit of blood in my body must rush to my face. I had no idea Jackson was going to do something like that. I didn’t mind it… I actually kind of _liked it_ , but it was so unexpected. And the sound that his palm made as it connected with the damp bikini bottom was really loud. Everyone definitely heard. 

“You two are annoying,” Amelia says lightly. “I changed my mind over everything I said about you being cute.”  

I giggle and lean closer into him, and he snaps the waistband of my bottoms.

“So did you two fuck, or what?” Alex asks, out of the blue.  

My heart stops. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on us. I don’t know which is better to say - that we have or that we haven’t? I have no idea how I’m supposed to answer, all of my thoughts are going haywire and I can barely discern one from the other.

“None of your damn business, how about,” Jackson says, patting my thigh. “Mind your own.”

Alex raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes, lowering them back down to his phone. I guess I couldn’t have answered it much better, but I wish he never would’ve asked at all. I just want to know what he’s thinking - about me, about us. I hope that this is making me more desirable, because it’s definitely getting him to notice me. I’m not so invisible anymore, that’s for sure. And maybe this attention can turn to jealousy, which is just what I want.

***

The next week passes quickly. Jackson and I tone it down in class, but still make sure our relationship is clear in front of Alex. I don’t know how much he notices, but I hope it’s at least a little. I can’t stop thinking about it.

Even sitting playing the piano on Saturday in the music school, I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about it so hard while playing Nocturne No. 2 in D Flat Major, that I mess up notes that I’ve been getting perfect for weeks and slam my hands down on the keyboard to make an unpleasant, dissonant sound.

Directly following that, there’s a soft knock on the door. I turn around with my hands on the bench and see Jackson’s smiling face in the rectangular window, so I beckon him in.

“Hey, piano girl,” he says, sauntering inside. “Resorting to violence, I see?”

I sigh. “I kept messing up,” I say. I scoot over on the bench. “You gonna sit?”

He lowers himself down so our hips are flush together. He’s come to this practice room a lot this week, usually guessing correctly when I’ll be here, and I’ve learned he likes to sit on the bench next to me.

It’s kind of sweet.

“What are you messing up?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s just a bunch of note stuff. It’s hard to explain.”

“Come on,” he says. “Just try. I’m smarter than you think.”

“I don’t think you’re not-” I let out a long breath from my nose. “Jackson. You really wanna know?”  

“Yeah, dumb fuck,” he says. “If I didn’t wanna know, I wouldn’t have asked.”

I sigh again and point at the paper, feeling his shoulder lean against mine as I do so. “I keep jamming up these eighth notes and playing the wrong pattern. I keep playing the pattern from here.” I point to a different part of the sheet. “My brain just keeps mixing them up. It’s so annoying.”

“Maybe you should let me try,” he says, that cocky grin present on his face.  

I roll my eyes. “You couldn’t even begin to play this,” I say. “You’re seriously dreaming.”

“You never know,” he says.

“I’m not even gonna let you try,” I say, pulling the sheet off of the built-in stand and tucking it into my music bag. “You can’t even read music.”

“It can’t be that hard,” he says, then elbows me in the side. “You do it.”

“Shut up,” I say, then turn to look at him to find him already looking at me, dead on. “Okay, I’ll compromise. I’ll teach you how to play ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ But that’s it.”

He smiles with his mouth open. “Lit,” he says. “Let’s do it.” 

I take in a deep breath and say under my breath, “Even though I already told you I wouldn’t teach you…” I glance over at him with only my eyes. “You really think you can get everything you want, don’t you?”

“Correction, I don’t _think_ I can,” he says. “I _know_ I can. Now where do I put my fingers?”

We make quick, meaningful eye contact, and he busts up into giggles.

“That’s what she said,” he chuckles.

“Okay, offer revoked,” I say. “I’m not teaching you if you’re gonna be nasty.”

He jostles my shoulders and I fight a smile. “Come on, piano girl,” he says, all whiny. “Just ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ That’s all I ask. No more dirty jokes, promise.”

“Fine,” I huff. “Give me your hand.”

I take his hand and lay his pointer finger, middle finger, and ring finger over three black keys in the middle of the piano - F sharp, G sharp and A sharp. “Press down on A sharp,” I say.

He looks at me, dumbfounded.

“Oh, right,” I say. “Okay, well. Let me help you the first time.”

I rest my fingers over his, not missing the way his twitch once we touch. I press down on his ring finger, then his middle, then his pointer, and finish the pattern of the simple song at a very slow tempo, singing along softly as we go.

He stays still the whole time. He doesn’t flash me cocky grins or nudge me playfully, he just lets me play the keys through him. When the short song is over, he turns his head slightly to look into my eyes, and the softest smile I’ve ever seen graces his lips.

“You have a pretty voice,” he says.

I look down at the keys, feeling bashful for some reason, even though I know my voice is nice. I wouldn’t have the major that I do if it weren’t.

“So you’ve officially played your first song,” I say, breaking my hand away from his. “Think you can do it on your own?”

“I don’t really want to,” he says. “Will you sing something else?” 

I shake my head slightly. “I-I don’t feel like singing right now.”

He groans a little and rolls his eyes. “Fine, spoiled sport. You’re lucky, anyway. It’s almost time for my game. That’s actually why I came to find you, I wanted to ask… do you wanna come?”

He stands up from the bench and I track him with my eyes. “What, to your soccer game?” I ask. I notice for the first time that he’s wearing his uniform - white shorts, blue socks, and a blue and white jersey.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Why?” I ask, resting one bent knee on the bench.

“Uh, I don’t know,” he says. “I figured… we’re friends, I talk about it all the fucking time, maybe you’d wanna see what I do almost every night.”

“Oh… I…” I say. I scan his body and look at the uniform again. This is the first time that either of us have said out loud that we’re friends. It’s kind of a weird feeling, and I’m not sure what to think about it.

“I mean, it’s not like you have to,” he says. “Alex isn’t gonna be there or anything. This-this isn’t part of the plot, or anything weird. I just wanted to see if you’d wanna come. That’s it. That’s literally it.”

“Is it cold out?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Yeah, kinda.”

The temperature has dropped considerably since the beginning of the week, such is fall in Chicago. It was only around 50 degrees when I left to come here this morning. 

“I have a blanket,” he says. “My bag’s outside the door.”

“You brought a blanket?” I ask. “Did you just assume I was gonna come?”

He shrugs. “Well, I was kinda hoping.”

“You were hoping?” I ask.  

“I mean… yeah,” he says. “How about you stop with the goddamn questions and just tell me if you’re coming or not.”

I stand up from the bench and throw on my fall jacket. “Sure,” I say. “I’ll come.”

The April at home never would have been caught dead at a sports game, but here I am. There aren’t many people here to watch the boys play soccer against Creighton, so I sit in the front row bleachers with Jackson’s tartan blanket wrapped around my shoulders.

It smells just like him. When no one’s looking, I find myself pressing my nose into the corners and breathing in the smell. I’ve spent more time with him this week than anyone else, and I find that he can really make me laugh. Even more than that, he’s really good at calming me down when I get anxious about school or my family. He always seems to know just what to say, but I have no idea how. 

I watch Jackson stretching on the field, bending at the waist to touch either of his cleats. When he stands up straight again, he flashes me a smile and a wave as his teammate and roommate, Mark, passes by. 

“Oh, your woman came, did she?” he says, slapping Jackson on the back. “So supportive.”

Jackson shakes his head and I smirk at their interaction. Another one of his teammates passes as we’re making eye contact and looks up at me, too. He says, “Aw, Avery’s little _girlfriend_ came to watch her boy play. How sweet.”

My lips part as my mouth gapes a little bit. So Jackson has apparently told his whole team about us. I’m not sure if I should be mad or amused, so I go with the easier emotion. Amused. 

When the game starts, Jackson scores goal after goal. I find myself paying attention the entire time, not becoming bored for a single minute while he’s on the field.

During the last quarter, the two teams are tied and the seconds are ticking down. As they get lower and lower, Jackson gets control of the ball and starts dribbling down the field, and I can’t help but lean forward where I sit and follow him closely with my eyes, watching him dart quickly around other players and maneuver the ball expertly. 

“You can do it, you can do it,” I say under my breath. “You got this, Jackson, you got this…”

He kicks the ball just as the buzzer sounds, and it flies into the opposite team’s net. I shoot up from the bleachers with my arms raised over my head, screaming my head off for him as the blanket tumbles to the ground. 

“Yes, Jackson!” I scream, stomping my feet. “Woohoo!”

I stop screaming and start laughing, my mouth wide open in a huge smile. He’s standing at the edge of the field, beaming up at me with shining eyes, shaking his head slightly.

I lower my arms and pick the blanket back up, wrapping myself in it again as he gathers his things. Once he’s all packed up, I skip over to meet him on the track so I can launch myself into his arms.

“You did it!” I cheer. “Did you hear me screaming?”

“China heard you screaming,” he says, spinning me around. He sets me back down on the ground, and I can feel his teammates’ eyes on us. 

It’s the image. We have to keep up the image.

He holds my jaw in his hands and kisses me sweetly, smiling through it. We pull away and he goes back for a second, then a third. 

“You glad you came?” he says, pushing back my flyaways.

“Yeah,” I say, and we start to walk. After we take a few steps, I open the blanket and welcome him to my side. He rests one heavy arm over my shoulders and I wind mine around his damp waist. “You’re a boss out there.”

“See, now you know,” he says. “I can be good at stuff, too. Not just you.”

I press my lips together and chuckle, looking up at him. 

“Dimple,” he says, poking it.

“Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her,” I hear, and look over to see Mark chanting where he stands leaning against the fence on the outside of the field.

Jackson rolls his eyes, but doesn’t fight it. He squeezes my shoulder and kisses me, lingering with his mouth over mine for a few seconds after we’ve parted.

My smile still hasn’t died from my face and my heart is thumping through my chest, threatening to burst through any second. I’ve never felt these wild kind of emotions before. 

It’s the image. 

We have to keep up the image.


	4. Chapter 4

**JACKSON**

I step out of the shower on a Friday night after practice, running a towel over my wet curls. Mark is sitting on his bed, spinning his fidget spinner and watching it with intense fascination, barely noticing that I’ve entered the room. 

He didn’t bother showering after practice, even though his clothes are covered in grass stains. I feel bad for the first girl he brings back here, because his bed is probably really fucking contaminated. 

I throw on a pair of DePaul sweatpants, socks, and a soft t-shirt. “I’m gonna go see April,” I say, lingering by our open door. 

He looks up from his spinner as it continues to twirl. “Bring her over here,” he says. “I don’t wanna hang out alone on a Friday night. Plus, you’re always in her room.” 

“Well, she has a single, so-” 

“So you two can do the nasty all you want?” he says, eyebrows wiggling above his grin. 

“She doesn’t have an annoying ass roommate breathing over her shoulder…” I say, laughing. “But fine. I’ll bring her here. Be back.” 

I saunter down the hallway, counting down the room numbers to April’s 412. When I get there, the door is cracked just slightly and I can hear her voice before I see her. She’s singing something but I can’t recognize the song as it’s muffled from inside the room, so I just stand still for a second and listen. 

She really does have a beautiful voice. She still won’t sing for me, but I’ve been trying. We’ve been spending a crazy about of time together this past week, ever since she came to my soccer game I’ve felt closer to her. Instead of just wanting to keep up our act, I find myself wanting to spend actual time with her. We’re becoming pretty good friends, I think. 

She has a ruthless mouth and sometimes says things she takes back right away, I’ve come to notice. She can talk circles around me, and while it would intimidate a lot of other guys I know, I like it. I love watching her show off how smart she is, whether that’s being a mini-Mozart on the piano or owning all of her schoolwork. I love watching her in her element. 

I also love showing off for her in mine, on the field. In high school, when my girlfriends would come and watch me play, it was because they wanted to flaunt my jersey and brag about who was theirs on the team. But April is there because she wants to be. I love looking up in the middle of a play to see that shock of red hair wrapped in my tartan blanket, during almost every game. 

“Knock, knock,” I say, tapping on the doorframe and speaking quietly so I don’t startle her. She startles easily, and usually I like doing it. But I don’t want to bother her while she’s singing. 

“Jackson,” she says. “You can come in. It’s open.” 

I swing the door in to see her sitting cross-legged on her bed, papers strewn out over her lap. “You doing voice stuff?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “I was actually writing a paper of yours. Did you hear me singing?” 

I grin. “Yeah.” 

She rolls her eyes at herself. “Just filling the silence,” she says. 

“Thought you liked the silence,” I say, standing across from her. Her bed is raised on four posts, so I’m at eye-level with her where she sits. 

“I like silence from  _ you _ ,” she says, touching my chest with the pad of her pointer finger. 

“Nah, you like my chatty ass,” I say. 

“Whatever you say,” she says, then pats the spot on the bed next to her. “Wanna sit?” 

I climb up on the bed next to her, glancing at the papers covering her legs. “I feel bad you’re doing this,” I say. “I can help. You shouldn’t be doing it all.” 

“It’s my end of the deal,” she says. “I’m gonna hold it up.” 

“I know, but…” I trail off. 

“You’ve been awesome with your end, and-and stuff,” she says, curling the corner of one of the papers. “It’s so believable. I really think he’s getting jealous. He’s talking to me a lot more than he ever has.” 

My skin crawls. “He is?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” she says, still messing with the paper. 

“I don’t see him talk to you in class,” I say. 

“Yeah, ‘cause  _ you’re _ always talking to me then,” she says, giggling and nudging my shoulder with hers. “We text.” 

“You guys text,” I echo. 

“Yeah,” she says nonchalantly. 

“When did he give you his number?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “A couple days ago?” 

“What kind of stuff do you talk about?” I say, trying to sound as chill as I can. I wonder if it’s working. 

“Why, are you gonna document all this somewhere or something?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “What’s with the third degree? It means what you and I are doing is working.” She stacks her papers and glances out the window, where the sun is just starting to go down. “I just hope he doesn’t see through it, though. That’d be mortifying.” 

“Maybe we need to make our PDA a little more believable,” I say, watching her mouth. Her tongue darts between her lips to wet them, and she glances down at my mouth, too. 

“What do you mean, more believable?” she says. 

“You’re still new at kissing,” I say. “Practicing never hurt anybody.” 

Her face flushes a little bit. “What, I’m not good?” 

“No, no,” I say. “I didn’t say that. I just meant… it could be more natural, I don’t know.”

“Well,” she says, curling her hair behind her ears with both hands. “I don’t know, wanna make out for a while and see if I can get better?”

My stomach jumps. “Sure,” I say, sounding casual. “Mark wants to hang out with us tonight, but he can chill for a sec.” 

“Okay,” she says, leaning over to set her bundle of papers on her desk. “I… um… okay.” 

She lies down on her back with her head to the foot of her bed, eyes trained on me to gauge my next move. I’m a little caught off guard that she laid down, but not in an unpleasant way. I crawl over her with my hands braced on the mattress by her ears, then bend my neck to press my parted lips against hers.

Her lips are so soft. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything softer in my entire life. She’s gotten a lot better at knowing when and how to move them, so when I slip my tongue inside her mouth, it’s not a shock to either of us. She makes a sweet little sound in the back of her throat, and I skim one hand up her blanket to interlace our fingers together, and she holds on tight. 

I move to straddle her hips, keeping my weight off of her because I feel myself getting a boner that I know is unavoidable. I know this is all fake, and I’m fine with it staying that way. I don’t have feelings for her or anything, but her body is insane. I’d be blind and stupid not to see that. And she doesn’t even know how amazing it is, so that’s what I always try and show her. 

She never believes me, though. 

She squeezes my hand and uses the other one to push my hips down by the small of my back, lowering my body so I can rest against her instead of hovering above. 

“I just… I didn’t know if you’d want- I have… I’m…” I stammer, which is really unlike me. I’m usually the one who’s smooth with words, but that can’t be said right now. All the blood is at my groin, not in my brain. 

“It’s fine,” she says, adjusting her hips more comfortably underneath me. “I want you to be relaxed, too.”

I smile and kiss her again, moving my hand away from hers to trail down her face, then to land on the side of her neck. I can feel her pulse beating like mad, and that reassures me that I’m not the only one between us whose heart is racing.

I swipe her bangs out of her face and press a few kisses to her eyebrows, and she shuts her eyes gently while smiling. “You’re so beautiful,” I tell her, tucking my face into her neck. 

She takes in a sharp little breath and her hands freeze on my back. 

“What?” I say, lifting up to look at her. She’s chewing her lip, eyes concentrated out the window instead of on me. 

“You don’t have to say that kind of stuff, you know,” she says. “If you don’t mean it.” 

“Who says I don’t mean it?” I ask, brushing an eyelash off the apple of her cheek. 

“I mean, you  _ don’t, _ ” she says. “Because I’m not.” 

I chuckle. “Yes, you are,” I say. 

She rolls her eyes. “You’re really good at keeping up the fake relationship game, okay, Jackson?” she says. “I get it. But you don’t have to go so far with it. It hurts my feelings.” 

I screw up my face in confusion. “I… I didn’t say it to hurt you,” I explain. “I said it because I actually mean it.” 

“How could you mean something like that?” she asks. “I’m not beautiful. Nothing is beautiful about me.” 

I shake my head. “You’re out of your fucking mind.” 

She sits up quickly, which forces me to adjust my positioning, too. “People call me smart. Funny, sometimes even cute. But I’m not beautiful. I know myself, Jackson, and I know what I am and what I’m not. I’m not a beautiful girl. I’m a smart girl.” 

“Is there some rule I don’t know about that says you can’t be both?” I ask, widening my eyes. 

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Her eyebrows are set in a low, stubborn expression. “Why are you fighting me so hard on this?” she asks. 

“Because you won’t listen,” I say. “I’m telling you you’re beautiful, and you don’t believe me. I’m not leaving ‘til you do.” 

“I didn’t ask you to go anywhere,” she says, looking down and messing with a thread on her soft gray sweatpants. 

“Well, even if you did.” 

She huffs. “You only think I’m beautiful because I kiss you a lot and give you boners.” 

My mouth gapes open as I laugh at what she’s said. “Holy shit, wow,” I say. “Okay, no. You’re so off, dude. I think you’re beautiful because… uh, I don’t know. You are?” 

“How.” 

“How?” I repeat. 

“Congratulations, parrot,” she says. 

I scoff. “Your eyes,” I say. “They’re all… sparkly and shit. Like of course they are, in the light. But I mean, right now even. They’re all shiny when you look at me. I don’t know how they do that, but I really like it.” 

She bats her eyelashes and my stomach twists. 

“Your hair,” I continue. “I don’t know why you freak out about brushing it so much, because it looks perfect when you don’t even try. I love the color. I can always spot you in the bleachers, and that’s my favorite thing.” 

I rest my back against the wall and she crawls onto my lap, her weight pleasant on my thighs. As I talk about it, I run my fingers through the tendrils of hair that lay over her shoulders, and she gently holds my wrist. 

“Your lips,” I say. “They’re so soft. Like… insanely soft. I’d kiss them all day, if you’d let me.” I smile and roll my eyes at myself, at how cheesy I sound. I don’t care, though. I really want her to believe me; I want her to know how amazing she is so she can have some self-confidence for when she finds the guy who’s right for her. “Your laugh,” I say. 

“Ugh, I hate it,” she says. 

“No, it’s so sexy,” I say, holding her face with my thumbs on her cheeks. She leans her head to one side, resting against me, blinking slowly. “You’re so beautiful. And I’m gonna tell you every day.” 

“People will really believe us then,” she says, leaning forward to press her mouth gently to mine. When she pulls away, she whispers, “Jackson.” 

“Hmm?” I answer, eyes closed and eyebrows raised attentively. 

“Would it be weird if you… touched me?” 

My eyes shoot open to look into hers. “Touched you?” I clarify. 

She takes in a shaky breath and holds my wrist, then moves it lower from her neck to her chest, where she places my hand over her left breast. 

I grit my teeth together. I can feel her heartbeat right under my palm, and she keeps her hand planted over mine. As I look at her, she nods a little bit and I squeeze her softly, my fingers moving hesitantly. She must be only wearing a sports bra, because I can feel her better than I would be able to through a regular one. Her breast is soft and its weight is comforting in my hand, and now I never want to let go. 

I never thought we’d get to this step. 

“I like that,” she whispers, leaning forward to kiss me again. “Keep it right there, please.” 

As she pushes her tongue inside my mouth, I move to hold her other breast as well. She nods against me and I don’t miss the way that her hips are grinding against my crotch, and I can feel my pulse beating hard between my legs. If we don’t stop soon, she’s going to make me come in my pants. And I don’t think I can handle that kind of embarrassment. 

But I also don’t think I can handle stopping her. I’m enjoying this way too much, and I think she is too. 

“April,” I say, lips moving over hers. “Have you ever had an-” 

“What’s taking you two so long, goddammit?” I hear Mark’s voice, and suddenly he appears in April’s doorway. I must not have shut it all the way when I came in. 

“Jesus, Mark!” I say, and April scrambles off of my lap to sit beside me. 

“Oh, come on, don’t act like I haven’t seen it before or done it myself,” he says, then winks. “Nice, by the way. Second base.” 

I lick my lips. I can still taste her Chapstick, and I’m not complaining. 

“Anyway, you guys coming to the room? I set up Mario Kart. Lame ass game, but it’s all for you, Kep.” 

Her eyes dart to me, and I notice that her lips are red and a little swollen. That familiar sense of pride blooms in my chest again, but I try to hide it. I don’t need her knowing what a gross typical man I am. 

“Yeah, sure,” she says, hopping off the bed. “Coming, Jackson?” 

April and I sit on bean bag chairs on the floor while Mark sits on his bed, all of us leaning forward with controllers in our hands. We play for a long time, and April is the queen of trash talking. After she wins for the fifth time in a row, she laughs in my face as she tips her head back and forth, then takes my chin in her thumb and first finger to give me a cute little kiss. 

“Got you again,” she says. 

“Hey, you beat me, too,” Mark says. “Where’s my kiss?” 

“Don’t even start,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. 

“Lay off, fucker,” he says. “I’m joking.” 

April sets her controller down on the floor. “You guys play this round. I’ll watch,” she says, hoisting herself up onto my unmade bed. 

“You sure?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says. “I need a break."

Her break turns into even, deep breaths right behind my head, and after I beat Mark bad in the next round, I turn around to see that she’s fallen asleep. 

“Let’s play COD,” Mark says. “She’s out. She won’t complain about the guns or yell at you for killing people.” 

I laugh and switch the discs, and we play until my eyes start to grow heavy. I notice that it’s past 2am, and April’s been out for a good three hours at least. 

“Think I should wake her up?” I ask Mark. She’s scooted over close to the wall, facing out with her hands by her face. 

“I don’t know,” he says, getting into his own bed. “Doesn’t matter to me.” 

“You’re a whole lot of help,” I say, then lean over my bed. “Piano girl,” I say quietly, not wanting to scare her. “April. April, wake up.” 

She makes a soft little sound, but doesn’t open her eyes. 

“Do you wanna go back to your room?” I ask. “Or stay here? I don’t mind if you stay. But if you wanna go, I’ll take you. I’m ready to go to sleep.” 

She sighs and rubs her eyes, flipping over onto her back. “Stay here,” she says. “Sleepy.” 

“Okay,” I say. “I’m gonna lay next to you then, if that’s okay? Unless, if you want me to sleep on the floor. I can do that, too.” 

“Will you just shut up?” Mark groans. “Trying to sleep over here.” 

I glare at him through the dark, then look back to April to see that she’s created a bigger space for me. “Oh,” I whisper. “Thanks.” 

I crawl into bed and try to straighten the sheets, but it’s hard without being able to see. 

“Cold,” April says, pulling her knees to her chest. After that doesn’t help to warm her, she lowers them again and gravitates towards me just as I’ve fixed the covers. 

I freeze when she touches me, though I don’t know why. I’ve slept beside my fair share of girls, so I’m not sure why I’m freaking out about her being in my bed. Maybe because the thing we have going isn’t supposed to be like this. It isn’t supposed to be  _ real _ . But I did make sure and ask her. And she said she wanted to stay. And I want her to stay. But  _ should _ I want that? I don’t know. 

I just want to go to sleep. We can figure this shit out in the morning. 

She insistently snuggles against my side as I pull the covers over us. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and she rests her head on my chest, nuzzling against me to get comfortable, then lays her hand on my stomach over my t-shirt. Her breathing finds its rhythm again almost instantly, and her legs twitch against mine as she drifts back into unconsciousness. 

I can’t help but watch her, just for a second. Her face is so calm and unworried - she’s fucking adorable. My heart is doing something crazy, though, so I stare back at the ceiling and try to ignore the soft waves of her hair underneath my chin, the swell of her breasts pressed against my side, and the way she’s curled one leg around mine. In a perfect world, I’d be able to ignore all of that and fall asleep. 

But, of course, this is not a perfect world. 

The next morning when I wake up, April’s eyes are just blinking open, too. She’s still tucked into my side, one cheek squished against my shoulder, with her arm slung heavy across my lower belly. 

I bend my neck to look down at her and see her eyes only half-lidded. She pushes herself up a little bit and moves the hand that had been on my stomach to hold the side of my face, then she presses her lips to mine - all slow and sleepy. She kisses me once, twice, three times, then lays her head down in the crook of my neck and falls back to sleep. 

Wow. Wow, wow, wow. Now I’m wide awake, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling with this small, warm body folded against my own. What was that for? Practice? It seemed way too routine, way too comfortable and familiar to be practice. And now, she’s sleeping soundly cuddling with me. What’s this practice for? Who are we doing this for besides ourselves? Mark? He’s fast asleep and snoring a few feet away, he doesn’t give a shit. 

I tighten my arm around her and ghost my lips over her hairline. She doesn’t even stir, she’s already deeply gone again. I shouldn’t be letting her stay like this, I know that. There’s no reason for it. She doesn’t have feelings for me, and I don’t have feelings for her. This is pointless. We’re friends, and that’s only as of the last couple weeks. We’re friends who hold up our ends of a deal for one another, and that’s that. We make each other feel good along the way, too. That’s called friendship. 

But as I look down at her, all cute and asleep and serene, what I’m feeling is a lot more than friendship. And that freaks me out. I shouldn’t be feeling all arm and gushy when I look at her face, not at all. 

Maybe too abruptly, I slide out of bed to get away from my feelings and the motion wakes her up. 

“Hmm?” she says, sitting halfway up and rubbing her eyes. Her hair is tousled and frizzy, sticking out every which way. “Jackson?” 

“Hey,” I say. “Morning.”

She blinks hard. “I… I didn’t mean to sleep here. I’m sorry. That was really intrusive of me to do.” 

I rub the back of my neck, staring down at the carpet instead of her cute ass sleepy self. I think I’ll self-destruct if I look at her for one more second. “No, you were fine,” I say. “Did you sleep good?” 

“Yeah…” she trails off. “Really good. Better than I have since I moved here.” She laughs a little bit. “Maybe I should sleep with you more often.” 

I look up from the ground and we lock eyes as she realizes what she said. 

“Oh, well, not like  _ that _ ,” she backtracks. “You know what I meant. Sleep. Like, sleep. Lay next to you and close my eyes. I really liked it for some reason. I slept like a rock.” 

I wish I could say the same. I spent most of the night acutely aware of her presence and hoping I wouldn’t make a wrong move. I don’t know why, either. And it was amazing to me that we woke up still all snuggled, because with other girls I always used to move away as soon as I could. With April, though, I hadn’t wanted to. 

“Well, my bed’s always open,” I say with a smile. I glance at the clock and see it’s nearly 11, which means my game is in a couple hours. “Hey, you coming to the game?” I ask. 

She looks at the clock, too. “At 1?” she asks. I nod, and she slips off my bed. “Sure. It’ll give me some time to go practice.” She pets down her crazy hair in attempts to tame it, but it doesn’t do much. “I’m gonna go… do that, then.” 

“I’ll come get you in a little bit,” I say. “School of Music?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “As always.” 

After she leaves, I jump in the shower and for the first time, wishing that I could talk to Mark about this. I can’t, though, because he thinks that mine and April’s relationship is real just like everyone else does. There’s no one I can talk about my feelings with - no matter how hokey that sounds. Their weight is pressing down on my shoulders, and I wish I could shake it off. I can’t, though. And it just gets worse every time I think about her. 

Which happens to be a lot. 

I take my time walking over to the School of Music after I’m all prepped for the game. I like the sound that my cleats make on the pavement, and I like looking around to see the leaves changing. It’s early October now, and the colors out here remind me a lot of April’s hair. 

My face screws up as I wonder,  _ why the hell am I thinking about April’s hair?  _

I find my way to her normal practice room and watch her for a second before I knock on the window. The sheet music poised on the piano stand says Arabesque No. 2 by Debussy, and her fingers are absolutely flying over the keys as she concentrates. I can’t bear to interrupt her, so I wait until she’s finished to make my presence known. 

“Come in,” she calls after I rap my knuckle on the glass.

“You should’ve seen how fast your fingers were flying, piano girl,” I say, sliding next to her on the bench. I mimic the way her hands were moving, and she holds back a smile. “I think you burnt some rubber.”

“Shush,” she says, gathering up her papers and putting them in her music bag. “You ready?” 

“Uh-huh,” I say. “Got your blanket-” 

“Oh, it’s  _ my _ blanket now,” she says, hoisting the small bag up onto her shoulders.

“Well, you’re the only one who uses it,” I say. “You made it smell like you, by the way.” 

“No, it definitely still smells like you,” she says. 

“Whatever,” I say, smiling. She pulls the blanket from my bag and wraps it around her shoulders, and we walk side-by-side to the field. Once we get there, she gives me a little wave and goes to her normal spot on the bleachers, and I jog onto the turf to join my team. 

I score the first goal, and the first thing I hear is April screaming her head off. I look over and she’s jumping up and down with the blanket still around her, cheeks flushed from the crisp air. I’d score a million goals if it meant I’d get to see her react like that every time. I’d definitely be lying if I said I didn’t love showing off for her. 

Some time passes where the other team catches up to us, and by halftime we’re tied. While I’m sitting on the silver bench on the sidelines with my water bottle, April makes her way down the bleacher stairs and stands in front of me. 

“Did you hear me cheering?” she asks. 

I nod and glance around at my teammates who all think we’re the perfect couple. Keeping up the image is on the forefront of my mind, so I set my water bottle down and pull her close with my hands on her hips. She’s standing and I’m sitting, so I spread my knees so she can fit between them. With her hands on my shoulders, she leans down and rubs the tip of her nose against mine with a cute little smile on her face. 

“What,” I say, squeezing her waist. 

“It’s cool watching you out there,” she says. 

“Yeah?” I say.

“Yeah,” she says. “I like it.” 

“I like you watching me,” I say, reaching up to tug gently on the ends of her hair. 

The sound of the whistle blowing interrupts us, and April gives me a quick kiss before I stand up from the bench. “Good luck, baby!” she calls out, then heads back up to her spot. 

With renewed energy, I fly out onto the field and score a goal within the first six minutes of the third quarter. But when the ball flies into the net, I don’t hear April freaking out like usual. With my eyebrows screwed up in confusion, I look up in the bleachers to see if she’s still there. I see that she is, but she’s not alone anymore. 

She’s not alone, there’s someone sitting next to her. Someone, who I can recognize from all the way out here on the field, as Alex Karev. 

I stay frozen where I stand by the goal, even as the game continues around me. My eyes are burning into the two of them; she’s turned towards him and their knees are millimeters away from touching. She has a big, dumb smile on her face as their heads are bent together, and he’s showing her something on his phone that’s making her laugh. 

What the fuck is he doing here? 

I tell myself that I’m mad because to my team, she’s  _ my _ girlfriend. What are they supposed to think when they see her flirting with another guy? 

My face gets hot and I ball my fists up at my sides, trying to will away my anger. She’s not my property. I’m not some pig who thinks like that, but that’s not why I’m so angry. I’m angry because Alex is a douche and she can’t see it. I’m mad because she came here to watch  _ me _ , and now all she cares about is him. Why is he even here anyway? Did he know she was going to be here? Did she tell him herself? I don’t think she would do that, but I don’t know. We’ve only known each other for a month or so. How much can I really know about her? 

“Avery! Pay attention, would you?” my coach shouts, and I notice that my team has gravitated to the other end of the field. I shake my head to clear it and trot down to where the action is, but my mind isn’t on the game anymore. It’s on last night, how her body felt pressed under mine, how her breasts felt in my hands, how nice it felt to sleep next to her. I know it wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me, and it doesn’t. But for some reason I can’t help but feel a little betrayed. 

I don’t score any more goals for the rest of the game. In fact, I don’t even look up to the bleachers until after the last whistle is blown. 

We lose. And when I glance up, I see that April is alone again with an ‘at least you tried’ look on her face. 

Everything in me wants to walk off the field with my friends. I don’t want to go up and talk to her, because I know how I’m going to act. Pissed. And I also know that I have no right to act that way, but I can’t help it. Seeing Alex here really threw me off my vibe. If it weren’t for him, we probably would’ve won this stupid game. 

I trudge up the bleacher stairs anyway, and can see April walking slowly towards me in my peripheral vision. “It’s okay,” she says, before I even reach her. “Everyone has to lose sometimes.” 

“Yeah,” I grunt, and pick up the music bag for her. I don’t make eye contact as I start walking up the stairs ahead of her, and she has to skip to catch up.

“Did it really bother you that much?” she asks as we walk out of the stadium. 

“I don’t really care,” I say. 

“You sound like you care,” she mutters. 

“Well, I don’t,” I say, hitching the bag up higher on my shoulder. 

“If you don’t wanna carry that, I can,” she says. “You already have your soccer bag. You don’t have to carry both.” 

She goes to reach for it, but I keep a tight hold. “I got it,” I say. “Don’t worry about it.” 

We walk in silence for a little while, our feet leading us towards our dorm. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t look over. I keep staring down at the sidewalk, willing my twisting anger to pass. But it doesn’t. 

“What’s up with you,” she asks, and the air has changed between us. I can practically feel the eggshells that we’re walking on. 

“Nothing,” I murmur, keeping my head low. 

“Yeah, right,” she says. “You won’t even look at me.” 

I pick my head up and make pointed eye contact, just to spite her. “Why was Alex there?” I ask, finally spitting it out. 

Her forehead crinkles show up from confusion. “Wait, seriously?” she asks. “That’s why you’re mad?” 

“I’m not mad,” I say. 

“ _ Okay _ ,” she says sarcastically. “Sure.” 

“I’m not mad,” I repeat. 

She eyes me, and I can tell she still doesn’t believe me. That’s fine. She doesn’t have to. “Whatever,” she says. “He was there because he was walking on Belden and said he saw me, and he stopped to say hi.” 

“He saw you through the bottom of the cement bleachers,” I say, deadpan. 

“Yeah,” she says. “No, well, I don’t know! I don’t know how he saw me. That’s not the important part.” 

“And what is?” I ask. 

“That he stopped!” she says, eyebrows up. “It’s a good thing. He actually asked me to hang out later.” 

I clench my jaw and feel like I might explode. I don’t even know what to say. 

“Like, finally, right?” she continues, evidently oblivious to my prickling anger. “So I said we should, later tonight in my room.” 

In her room. The place where the two of us always hang out, that I had always thought was special. Well, I guess that idea’s out the window now. “Cool,” I say, under my breath.

“Yeah…” she says, voice dying at the end. “I think so, too.” 

We walk inside Clifton and swipe our IDs, then get on the elevator. My mind is whirring as I try to figure out a way to get her out of hanging out with him, but I can’t come up with anything. The best I can do is get her to myself for a few more hours before the afternoon turns into the evening, so that’s what I plan on doing. 

She unlocks the door to her room and starts cleaning instantly as I stay leaning against the doorjamb. “Do you wanna uh… go on a run with me, or something?” I ask. 

She narrows her eyes at me as she folds and refolds a shirt, replacing it inside a drawer. “What?” she says. “I don’t run. You know that.” 

I take a deep breath. “It’ll calm you down,” I say. “Then you’ll be chill for, you know, later.” 

She gives me a weird look. “I’m chill right now,” she says.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

“What!” she says. “I am.” 

“Yeah, because neurotically cleaning your already-spotless 4x4 dorm room looks super chill,” I say. 

She flops on her bed, her arms out to either side. “Ugh,” she says. “Me and physical activity don’t really mix. Just like you and the piano don’t really mix.” 

“Hey,” I say, my tone a fake warning. “I rocked the hell out of ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb,’ so you better take that back.” 

She chuckles, and that makes me smile. I love getting a laugh out of her. 

“Fine,” she says dramatically after a second or two has passed. “Let me get my tennies on.” 

“Your whatties?” I ask, leaning forward on the footboard of her bed. 

“My tennies,” she says, sitting on the floor and pulling her sneakers on. 

“Those are called sneakers,” I say. 

“My family calls them tennies,” she says. “And you will not tell me otherwise. It’s a Kepner thing.”

I extend my hand. “Well, come on then, Kepner thing. Let’s go.” 

I start out at a slow jog, and April keeps up with me even through her complaints. From her sweater and jeans she changed into leggings and a hoodie, and as she runs the sleeves roll down and cover her hands. She uses the extra fabric to keep warm, and I pretend to think that she’s an idiot. But I really think it’s super cute.

I pick up the pace as we go down neighborhood streets, and can tell she’s struggling a little. Maybe I’ll tire her out so much that she won’t want to hang out with Alex later. Or maybe I’ll keep her out too late and she’ll miss him in the lobby of the building, and won’t be able to sign him in. I’d be okay with either of those things.

“Jackson!” she shrieks, and I notice that she’s fallen far behind. When I glance over my shoulder, I see her doubled over with her ass facing me, and I force any and all inappropriate thoughts out of my head. 

“What?” I call. 

“I can’t…” she gasps, then collapses on her butt to rest in the grass along the sidewalk. “Ouch, I have - I have! Something in my leg! My leg!” 

I hurry over to her, thinking that she might have sprained something. But when I get closer, I can visibly see the muscle in her calf spasming - she’s just having a charley horse. 

“Okay, calm down,” I say. “Geez. It’s just a charley horse.” 

She flattens onto her back with her hands on her forehead. “And what the heck is that?!” she shrills. 

“It’s your damn - hold on,” I say, then pull her leg into my lap. 

“Ow!” she whines.

“Shush,” I say. “I’m gonna massage it out.” 

I knead her calf muscle in my fingers, and the sounds she makes from the way it feels are so sexual that I can’t see straight. I know how it feels for a charley horse to come on so fast then be willed away, but I don’t think I’ve ever made sounds like this because of one. 

She’s trying to kill me. 

“Is it gone?” I ask, still massaging. 

She peeks out at me from under her arm. “It feels like it might come back,” she says, knee bending a little bit. “Just keep going for a little bit longer.” 

I keep going until all the stiffness is out of her leg, and she’s breathing normally again. 

“I hated that,” she says. “What even was that?” 

I explain it to her, and she shakes her head. What I want to do most is crawl over her body and kiss her senseless in the grass, but I won’t do that. I won’t let myself. Plus, it’s not what she wants. 

“Can we go back?” she asks, somewhat pitifully. “And can we walk?” 

We take our time walking back to Clifton, and I dread every step. When we get up to the fourth floor, she unlocks her room and makes no move to invite me in, casually blocking the door with her body. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, after church,” she says. “Maybe you can sit with me while I write one of your papers.”

“Cool,” I say, growing sullen again. 

“I’m gonna go now,” she says. “I gotta take a shower before-” 

“Night,” I say, and turn around to walk to my room. When I get in, I slam the door behind me just a little too loud, and Mark peeks his head out of the bathroom. 

“Geez, dude, what the fuck?” he says, looking annoyed. “I thought I was being shot at.” 

I kick my shoes off and throw my dirty shirt into the hamper, not turning around to acknowledge him. 

“Damn, what’s got your panties in a twist?” he asks. 

“Fuck off,” I murmur. 

“Whoa, whoa,” he says. “Don’t be taking out whatever anger you have directed at your woman on me.” 

“How did y-” 

“I know these things,” he says. “Wanna talk about it?” 

I change into sweatpants and shake my head. 

“Fine,” he says. “I don’t care if you don’t wanna talk, but don’t bite my head off for no reason. I didn’t do anything wrong here. Well, maybe I did, but I’m not the one with the boobs that you’re pissed at. So leave me out of it.” 

He closes the door to the bathroom again and I open my laptop, putting on my headphones to watch Netflix so I can get my mind on literally anything else. I don’t want to be thinking about what April and Alex might be doing in her room. I don’t care if they’re talking, touching, or even looking at each other… I don’t want to think about any of it. 

But of course, I can’t concentrate. I tell myself that going on a walk will help, but I don’t want to go outside again. So I decided to just walk around the fourth floor, innocently enough. I leave mine and Mark’s door slightly ajar, and start strolling around the circular floor. 

I go the opposite way that I normally do, knowing full well that I have a destination in mind but at the same time pretending that I don’t. When I get to room 412 though, my footsteps slow down. I hear them inside - the musical rise and fall of April’s excited voice and Alex’s low, grumbling tone. What does she see in him? I have no idea what she could possibly see in him. She has to be out of her mind. 

I can’t quite hear what they’re saying, and I think that’s probably a good thing. I can hear her laughing, though - but it sounds forced. Too high and too loud. That’s the last straw; I pick up my pace again and walk back to my room. 

I don’t know how long I lay there on my phone, not doing much at all except for obsessing over what’s behind 412’s closed door. Mark left to go to a party, as most normal college students would on a Saturday night, but I don’t make a move to go anywhere. I know if I wanted to, I could. I could find somewhere to go, something to do. But I don’t want to move. I want to stay here and wallow, while pretending that I don’t care. 

Just before 11, I hear a rushed knock on the door as I’d just gotten up to brush my teeth. I frown towards the sound, wondering if it’s Mark having come back too drunk too early. I pad over and turn the knob, about ready to chew him out, only to see April there on the brink of tears. 

“Hey… hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, feeling my stomach churn with anxiety. 

It only takes those words for her to start crying. Her mouth turns down and she reaches her arms out for me, sobbing out one word only. 

“Jackson,” she cries, and I close the door and lead her to my bed so we can sit down. 

“What is it?” I ask, one arm around her shoulders. She stares ahead for a moment, then collapses against me, resting one hand on my chest and tucking her face into my neck. I can feel her tears on my skin - warm and relentless. “What happened?” 

It’s hard for her to get any coherent words out, but she says the only thing I need to hear to know what happened. “Alex,” she sobs. 


	5. Chapter 5

**APRIL**

My stomach is in knots as I sit on my perfectly made bed with my phone open in my palm, waiting for Alex’s text that says he’s downstairs.

I swing my legs and kick my storage units under my bed repeatedly, and they make a soft hollow sound each time. I bite the inside of my lower lip, chewing it from nervousness, and smooth down my hair. I got this. I totally got this. I’ve been practicing enough with Jackson to know how to act around boys. I’m not going to make myself look like a fool. I totally have this in the bag. 

I feel like I might throw up when his text finally comes. Okay, maybe I _don’t_ totally have this in the bag.

I send back a smiley face and hop off my bed, walking to the elevator with wobbly knees. I take deep breaths as I descend four floors, then ground myself when I step off. I see him with his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched as he waits by the front desk, and I walk his way.

“Hey,” I say, smiling.

“Hey,” he says back.  

I sign him in, handing both of our DePaul IDs to the desk receptionist. After I scan mine to get back in, I smile at him again and am just so glad that he’s here. I can’t wait to get to know more than what’s on the surface and have an actual conversation with him.

“How was your day today?” I ask, walking through the fourth floor hallway. “This is me, right here.”

I push open my door and shut it behind us after he walks in.

“Um, you can take your shoes off right there,” I say, pointing to the throw rug by the door. “It just gets dirty in here. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Um, my day was good,” he says, lingering in the doorway.  

It dawns on me that there’s not really a place to sit besides on my bed. There’s my desk chair, but that seems so formal and also uncomfortable. So, I do what a polite hostess should do.

“Wanna sit?” I ask. “My bed’s pretty comfortable.” 

He eyes me, and I’m not sure why. I hope I’m not making him feel awkward.

“Are you thirsty? Do you want something to drink?” I kneel down to look inside my mini-fridge. “I have water, La Croix, lemonade-” 

“I’m good, but thanks,” he says, sitting down.  

“Oh, okay,” I say, and take in a deep breath as I hop up to join him on the bed. It’s a somewhat comforting feeling that he’s not the first boy in my room, on my bed, but his presence is different than Jackson’s. I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but it just is.

Jackson is so familiar now that he makes this space his own. Almost to the point of being annoying, but not really. He’s here so much that I don’t have to worry about accommodating him. But now, here with Alex, I can’t help stressing about every little thing.

“So… you’re doing a lot better in music theory,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “I was really noticing that the other day. I meant to tell you.”

He half-smiles. “Yeah?” he says. “Really?”

“Yeah!” I say enthusiastically. 

“You’re fucking with me,” he says. “I don’t know what’s going on in that class. You’re basically the only one who does. Well, and Avery, but that’s only because of you.” 

I scoff. “Well, yeah." 

He scoots a little closer to me. “What’s up with you two, by the way?” he asks. “Are you guys still dating?” 

Suddenly, the memory of the pool comes rushing back to me, and I itch my head uncomfortably. “Well, yeah, no,” I say. “We’re… no. Not… not anymore.”

“Oh,” he says, nodding to himself. “That was quick.”

“Yeah,” I say, wanting to get off this subject. “It was nice to see you at the game today, by the way. It was cool of you to stop by.”

“Like I said, I saw you sitting there,” he says. “Wait… so if you and Avery aren’t dating, why were you there watching him play?"

I shrug. “We’re friends,” I say. “That’s all.”

“Hmm,” he says. 

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just… dude seems to think you’re more than that.”

I scrunch up my face. “What do you mean?” 

Alex raises his upper lip. “Are you blind? Have you seen the way that guy looks at you?” He shakes his head. “You might wanna straighten him out on that.”

There’s no way that I can just come out and tell Alex that those looks are all for our act, so I try and divert. “But yeah, like I was saying,” I continue. “I might even tell Professor Torres how much you’ve improved. It’s really good, Alex. People look over you, I can see that. But… I just wanted you to know that somebody knows what kind of stuff you’re capable of. That I know.”

There’s a weird, charged moment between us where we stare into each other’s eyes. I don’t know what’s happening, I can barely register the situation before his hands are cupping my cheeks and his lips are pressed against mine.

Kissing him is different than kissing Jackson, that’s for sure. His hands are rougher, his skin is dry, and he smells stronger. It’s not entirely unpleasant, just different. When he pulls away, he’s still holding my cheeks and I’m sure my facial expression is a mixture of bewilderment and happiness, because that’s what’s all stirred up in my body right now. I hadn’t planned on that happening tonight, but I’m not fighting it. Alex just kissed me. Alex seriously just _kissed_ me.

And thanks to Jackson, I wasn’t a complete idiot about it. I actually knew what I was doing - to a certain degree, at least.

After we make eye contact for a prolonged moment, he dives for my lips again. Our body movements aren’t fluid and practiced like the way I’m used to, but my heart is beating just as fast as he pulls my sweater off over my head, leaving me in just my white camisole.

Breathlessly, I say, “You know I’m a… a… I’ve never, um… This is my first time.” 

“You wanna stop?” he asks.  

I blink my eyes hard and shake my head. If I say no, I know I’ll never get this chance with him again. He probably won’t ever even _look_ at me again. I want this. I tell myself that I want this. “N-no,” I say. “No, I don’t wanna stop, I just-”

Before I can finish, he’s kissing me again and pulling my camisole over my head. I lift my arms and stare at him, panting, as he pulls off his own t-shirt.

Once I’m in my bra and he’s in an undershirt, we start kissing again. His lips are a little chapped, but I try to stop over-analyzing things and just let my body work this out, but it’s hard. I can’t stop comparing him to Jackson. Why won’t Jackson get out of my stupid head?!

Just as that thought crosses my mind, he maneuvers me like I weigh nothing so I’m lying down with my head on my pillow. He has one strong hand on my ribcage, holding me in place, and I have one wrapped awkwardly around the back of his neck. I don’t really know where to place it, so it feels like it’s suspended in midair. I don’t know his body like I know Jackson’s.

God, Jackson. Get out of my head.

He keeps kissing me, rough and sloppy. Then he moves down to my neck, and I wriggle underneath him to get his attention. “Can we just go, uh… slower?” I ask, bending my neck to look at him after he’s pulled away.

“What?” he mutters.

I’m breathing hard, so it’s hard to get my words out. “Can we please just go a little… sl-slower?” I ask, and his hand deftly skims up my side to hold my armpit, which is a bit strange. “Just… I need, I…I’m…”  

“What? What, what do you need?” he asks, his tone clipped and annoyed. “What do you need from me?” I blink hard, pulling my face away from his. “If you wanna fuck, let’s fuck. If you don’t, then… I’m out. I’m not gonna hold your virgin hand and walk you through it, that’s not why I came here. Look, April, you seem great and shit, but I thought we both knew what was gonna happen tonight. And it wasn’t me sitting here teaching you.”

He gets up off the bed and roughly puts his clothes back on, then walks out the door. I’m left lying on my bed in my bra and leggings, wondering what I did wrong. I didn’t ask to sleep with him, that was actually the last thing I expected to happen. He started it, and he got mad when I didn’t want it. What kind of person does that?

I feel so small. I feel so _stupid_ . Why would I think that a guy like him would be interested in someone like _me_?

I shakily sit up on my bed and pull a loose t-shirt on. I get up and stand in the middle of my room, unsure of what to do now. I don’t know what the next step is. I just want to go to sleep and forget that all of this happened, but my bed is all rumpled from what we just did and I can’t look at it. I have to wash those sheets, but I can’t bring myself to touch them right now.

I find myself walking out the door, down the hallway towards Jackson’s room. I don’t know what I’m looking for really, but I don’t want to talk to Addison and Amelia about this. Because of the fact that they think mine and Jackson’s relationship is real, they wouldn’t get it. And I’m not about to explain the whole thing. 

I knock on his door and wonder if he’ll answer. He seemed pretty mad at me earlier, though I don’t know why. Luckily, I’m not standing out in the hallway long before he appears, wearing pajamas and looking confused.

“Hey… hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, his eyebrows turning up in a concerned expression. 

That’s all it takes. Those kind, caring words are all I need for the waterworks to start. “Jackson,” I sob, reaching out for him.  

He takes me in his arms and leads me inside, guiding me to sit down on his bed. “What is it?” he asks, one arm around my shoulders. I swallow and keep my eyes forward as I catch my breath, but then start hysterically crying all over again. “What happened?” he asks again.

I can barely speak I’m crying so hard, but I do manage to get one word out. “Alex,” I sob.

He pulls away to look at my face, ducking a bit so I’ll meet his eyes. But I don’t, I can’t - I think I might be incapable of it right now. I feel dirty and used and so immature. I don’t know what I was expecting with Alex hanging out in my room, but it wasn’t that. But even though I hadn’t been expecting it, I would’ve been willing to go along with what he wanted if he hadn’t made me do so much so fast. It caught me off guard, and now everything is ruined.

My mind is spinning, jumping into the future and imagining how I’ll have to interact with him in class on Monday. I can’t do it. I already know I can’t do it. I wish none of this would’ve happened, I wish I would’ve never had a stupid crush on him in the first place.

Jackson was right, he is a douche. Why didn’t I see it before? Why would he rush me into something like that?

“April, you’re shaking,” Jackson says, rubbing my outer arm. “What the fuck did Alex do to you?”  

I breathe shakily and wipe my eyes, turning to look at him. His face is concerned - eyes wide and mouth set firmly.  

“Did he touch you?” he asks, eyebrows creasing together.  

I clasp my hands together and say, “N-no.” Then I rethink it. That’s a lie. “Well, yeah…”  

His whole body tenses. “What?” he snaps, his voice low and threatening. “He did?”   

“I-I…” I stammer. I curl my hair behind my ears and feel his eyes burning into me. “He did, but… I wanted him to. Until I didn’t, I don’t know.”  

I start to cry again, and Jackson unwinds his arm to fully face me. “Okay, April. What did he do? Tell me what happened.”  

I try and catch my breath as I shake my head. I feel so ashamed and so stupid. I don’t want Jackson to think I’m a bad person because of what I let Alex do, because of what I did. That was so unlike me. I don’t know what came over me. I just wish it had never happened, I just want to go back and erase it. 

“You can tell me,” he says gently.

I wipe the tears from my eyes so my vision clears, and see him looking at me with a kind and attentive expression.

So far, Jackson is my best friend here. Amelia and Addison are fine, but I don’t feel safe around them like I do with him. He knows so much more about me than they do, and I like that. I like having someone here who I can trust, and he’s a good person. Contrary to what I initially thought, he has a good heart. He’s shown me that time and time again.

“He came over,” I begin, my breath hitching in my throat. “And… and we were talking a little. It was nice. I liked it. He was different than he is around a group of people, like… he was nice. I thought that it was going really well, then he kissed me.”  

Something flashes across Jackson’s eyes, but I can’t tell what it is. I keep going.  

“He kissed me, then he pulled my-my sweater off,” I say, the lump growing in my throat. “I told him that…” I sigh. I’m sure Jackson has put my nonexistent sexual history together by this point, seeing as I’d never really kissed anyone before him, but I still feel like a baby saying it out loud. “I told him that I’m a virgin, and he asked me if I wanted to stop. I guess that was nice of him, and I said no… and he pulled my cami off and we were kissing and all I did was ask him to slow down and he freaked out.” I shake my head roughly. “I didn’t want that. I maybe would’ve liked to kiss him, but… I wasn’t ready for that. I think he-” 

“He wanted to have sex with you,” Jackson says, practically growling. “You wanted to slow down, and he was trying to force you.” 

“I… he- I don’t know if it was like that,” I say, my voice still waterlogged. “I just felt so… I feel so dirty. I didn’t want him to do that. I didn’t want it to go that far. I didn’t… I don’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t that.” I start to sob again. “It really wasn’t that.” 

Jackson wraps both arms around me and I melt against his chest, crying fat tears onto the front of his pajama shirt. He presses a comforting kiss against the top of my head, and that only makes me cry harder. 

“It’s all my fault,” I say. “You were right, I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you.”

He holds me at arm’s length to look into my face. “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he says. “I don’t want you to apologize, that’s fucked up. This wasn’t your fault.” I’m silent, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “Okay?” he prompts. 

“Okay,” I say, wiping beneath my eyes with my pointer fingers.

“I want you to stay here,” he says, standing up from the bed and kneeling down to put on his tennis shoes. With his back to me, he strips off his pajama shirt and throws on a more presentable t-shirt. “I’m gonna be right back.” 

I scoot to the edge of the bed and blink the tears out of my eyes. “Where’re you going?” I ask.

He pulls the bottom of his shirt to adjust it. “Just out for a second,” he says.

He’s out the door just as I’m standing up, ready to ask more questions. But even as I call after him down the hallway, he doesn’t look back. I have no idea where he’s off to, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to look for Alex. The look in his eyes worried me. It didn’t look like that of someone who was going to do something rational.

I sit on his bed for a long time, almost an hour passes. I wonder where Mark is, then come to the conclusion that he’s probably out partying. Just as I’m about to get up and go back to my room with my disheveled, tainted bed and bad memories, the lock clicks and Jackson walks in, looking a bit worse for wear.

I stand up instantly, crinkling my forehead. He’s sweating and his shirt is sticking to him in weird places, and he has a violent frown on his face.

“What happened to you?” I ask urgently, taking one step closer.

He strips off his shirt and makes no moves to put on a new one. I cement my eyes to the floor.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking out his hands. I glance at them and see that the knuckles on the right one are bloody and swollen.

“That’s a lie!” I say, rushing forward. “What’s with your hand?” I hold it by the wrist and he winces when I apply pressure. I lift my eyes to meet his and state, “You punched him.”

“I-”

“You need ice,” I say. “I have some in my room. Come with me. Uh… and put on a shirt.” 

He doesn’t fight me. He puts on a different t-shirt and follows me to my room. When we get inside, I force myself not to look at my bed and kneel down to my mini-fridge instead, gathering ice cubes in a Ziploc bag.

“Hold this on your hand,” I say. My eyes feel creaky from crying, and I’m exhausted. But I’m not going to sleep without hearing what he did. “I’m just going to strip my bed and throw all this in the laundry. I’ll be back.”

I do as I said I would and come back to my room to find him sitting on the bare mattress, looking down at it.

“I-I’m sorry,” I say. “I just didn’t… I wanted them fresh, I didn’t-”

“Don’t have to explain,” he says, shaking his head.

I sigh and stand across from where he sits. “Tell me what you did,” I say. 

Jackson flops onto his back while keeping the ice on his hand. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s over now. Not even worth talking about.”

“Yes, it is worth it,” I insist. “I want you to tell me.”

He sighs and tests me, keeping prolonged eye contact. I don’t relent, and he gives in. “Fine,” he says. “I found him. I punched him in the fucking face.”

“You _wh_ -” 

“A few times,” he says. “He fell over, then I kicked him. He got up and was gonna come at me, but decided against it. Probably the best decision he’s ever made in his fucking life.”

My eyes are wide as I stare at him, letting his words sink in. “Jackson…” I say. “You could get in serious trouble. Why… why would you do something like that?”

He narrows his eyes, looking at me like the answer’s obvious. “Because he hurt you,” he plainly states. “He deserves way worse than what I did to him. Maybe someday I’ll go cash that in.” He clenches his jaw and I see his cheeks swell slightly. “He’s a piece of shit. I can’t believe he thought he could… no. You know what, no. I can’t think about it, because if I do I’m going to run out of here and go find him again and probably beat him to death.” 

“Jackson…” I say.

“Stop,” he retorts. “I don’t regret it.”

“We’re gonna have to see him in class on Monday,” I say. I know it’s a feeble excuse, but it’s all that’s running through my head.

“He won’t be there,” Jackson says confidently. “He’s a pussy. He’ll drop.”

I purse my lips. “Don’t say that word.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but chooses not to. We spend a moment searching each other’s faces, wondering what to do next. I have no clue where we stand. Our endpoint of whatever we were doing is depleted now. We have no reason to continue hanging around each other. Having a friend like him was fun while it lasted, but I guess I can go back to only writing my own papers now.

I scratch my head and shift my weight from foot to foot. “So…” I trail off. “I guess, thanks for doing that. And thanks for doing…” I make a circular gesture with one hand. “All this. Helping me. I guess I’ll see you around.”

He squints at me, looking very confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks.

My mouth hangs open a little bit. “We only did this to get Alex’s attention,” I say. “It obviously didn’t work. So… you’re off the hook. You don’t have to-”

“April, we’re friends,” he says. “I’m not just gonna stop hanging out with you because that fucker hurt you. I like you. I mean, as-as a friend. I spend like, all of my time with you. If we stopped hanging out, dude, I’d be a loner.” He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, if you still _wanna_ hang. If you don’t want to, I’ll totally leave you alone. But I’m saying I don’t want to stop.”

“You don’t?” I ask.  

He shakes his head.

“Oh,” I say. “I… I still wanna be your friend, too.” I smile softly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Before Jackson can respond, there’s a short knock on the conjoined bathroom door before Addison walks in. “April?” she says, peeking into my room. “Are you okay? I heard some weird sounds coming from in here earlier…”

We make eye contact and she looks to Jackson, who’s turned his head to look at her.

“Hey, Jackson,” she says. “Were you guys in here making noise a little bit ago?”

“Everything’s fine,” I say. I don’t want to get into it with her. I don’t plan on ever explaining what went down earlier tonight. “Sorry for being loud.”

“No, it’s fine,” she says. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all good. I haven’t stopped by in a while, sorry I’ve been crazy busy.” She smiles slightly. “But you have, too, I guess. You guys are always together. I’ve seen you around.”  

“You have?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” she says. “You guys are doing good, right?” 

My stomach sinks. This ruse that we’ve kept up isn’t just between us and Alex, I realize that now. Everyone thinks we’re together. Addison, Amelia, Mark, Jackson’s whole soccer team… everyone we know. If we want it to stop, we have to essentially ‘break up.’ And that’s too much energy for me to think about exerting right now. 

“Yeah,” I say, offering her a smile. I walk towards Jackson and stand between his spread knees, and rest my hands on his thighs. I feel a calm wash over me when I touch him. He’s familiar, comforting, safe. I know him. I trust him. Everything about him is the opposite from how Alex felt earlier, and I want to be close to him. I’m glad, with Addison’s eyes on us, that I have the excuse to do it.

“Nice,” Addie says. “Hey, uh, I’m not doing anything… do you guys wanna watch a movie or something? I’m so bored. I can’t believe that it’s a Saturday night and I’m not doing anything, but… I don’t know. I took a nap and woke up way too late.”

I look at Jackson and he sets his bag of ice to the side and holds my waist loosely in his hands. “Sounds fun,” he says.

“We can watch it in here,” I say. “My sheets are in the wash, but we can sit on the floor.”

I give them the choice of DVDs and we all agree on 13 Going on 30, even though Jackson rolls his eyes. Addison sits on my bare bed - the sheets and comforter just got switched to the dryer - and Jackson and I sit on the floor right next to each other. The movie starts and the lights are low, and I can see Addie’s phone shining in my peripheral vision above us, which clues me in that she isn’t paying that close of attention.

I scoot closer to Jackson so our bent knees are lined up with each other and he looks down at me with a little grin on his face that reaches his eyes. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, and I rest my head down to use him as a pillow, closing my eyes as I smile with contentment. He kisses the top of my head a couple times and squeezes me as close as he can, and my heart feels so full. I really feel like I might explode. Compared from just hours ago, I am so happy. And I’m also happy that Jackson and I don’t have to stop being friends. And for right now, we can still pretend we’re dating for the sake of the people around us. Nothing has to change.

I tip my head up to look at him and whisper, “Hi.”

Crinkles appear on his neck as he meets my eyes. “Hey, piano girl,” he replies, and kisses me.  

“Guys,” Addison says. “Watch the damn movie. Or else I’m out of here.”

Jackson and I laugh and turn our attention back to the movie; I watch it halfheartedly but am only able to think about his body next to me. All I want to do is touch him, and Addison thinks we’re dating anyway… so there isn’t really a reason not to. 

I rest one hand on his leg and squeeze, which makes him dig his nails into my upper arm. I inch my fingers lower towards his inner thigh, and he starts to chuckle low in his throat. “Careful…” he says.

But I’m feeling confident, and I want his attention. I suddenly very much wish that Addison wasn’t here, just inches above us. I try to ignore the fact that she is, though, and crane my neck so I can kiss him on the cheek. 

I don’t know why I do it, really. After the bad thing with Alex happened earlier, I thought I’d want to be alone for a long time. Forever, maybe. But now, I just want those bad feelings that he gave me to be replaced with good ones. Good ones that I know Jackson can give me. And I want to make him feel good, too.  

After I kiss his face, he turns so he can press his lips to mine before I pull away. I smile into it and push myself up onto my knees, then hear the mattress situate above us.

“Okay, guys, geez,” Addie says. “I get when I’m not wanted.” She laughs and sighs to herself, sounding lightheartedly annoyed. “I’m locking this door. Keep it down, at least, okay?”

Neither of us acknowledge her as she leaves. Instead, I plant my hands on Jackson’s shoulders and push him to lie on his back with my body resting between his legs.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and I settle my weight down on him.

“Kissing you,” I say. “Can I?” 

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But… you want to?”  

“Yeah, I want to,” I say. “I wanna feel good. I felt so bad earlier, I wanna feel good.”

“Okay,” he says, skimming his hands up my sides.

“You make me feel good,” I say.

“You make me feel good, too,” he says, moving one hand to hold the underside of my knee to hitch it up higher. I push my hips down onto his groin and try to grind my need for friction away, an insistent sound escaping me as I do so. 

“Can we keep doing this?” I ask breathlessly, and his hand holds my knee tighter. “I really don’t want to stop doing this.”

“Making out?” he asks

I nod. “If you don’t want to keep going, I-”

“I want to,” he says.

“It’ll just be easier if we keep this whole thing up,” I say, moving my lips down to the angle of his jaw. He turns his head so I have better leverage, and I anchor one hand flat on his chest as I close my teeth over his sensitive skin.

“Pretend dating?” he says. “I still want to, if you do.”

“I told Alex that we br-”

“Fuck Alex,” Jackson says. “He doesn’t matter.” He pushes up the bottom of my shirt and rests his hands on my bare skin. “You matter.”

My face floods with heat and I press my torso against his, feeling him grow between my thighs. I sit up on his stomach with my back resting against his legs, and whip my shirt off over my head.

“Whoa, April,” he says, eyes wide.

“What?” I say.

“I-I just… I don’t wanna make you feel rushed, I’m not pushing you, I didn’t-”

“I know,” I say, rocking back and forth impatiently. “Wanna help me remake my bed so we don’t have to do this on the floor?”

We stand up and I can feel his eyes on me. My stomach is twisting with nerves, but in a good way. A really good way. I throw on a hoodie and come back from the laundry room with my linens in hand, then start to make my bed with his help.

“Jackson,” I say, throwing my comforter on over the mattress. “Do you want to have sex?”

His head snaps right over. “What?”

“Do you want to have sex?” I repeat. “With me. I… you don’t have to, you can say no… but… every time we make out, I feel you get hard and I-I just assumed you’d want to. Because I want to. I really want you, I think I might go crazy if we don’t do someth-” 

“I want to,” he says, cutting me off. “Now?”

“If you want,” I say. 

“Yes,” he says. “Just let me go get a condom.”

I strip off my hoodie in the time that he’s gone and also brush my hair. I spray some subtle perfume and put on deodorant too, almost wishing that I had enough time to call Libby. I’m about to lose my virginity. This is a big deal. I’m about to lose my virginity to my best friend, and I really, really want to.

How can the same concept between two boys feel so different? With Alex, the thought of sleeping with him was terrifying. But now, sitting here without a shirt on and smelling all fresh and clean for Jackson, I’m impatient with the four minutes he’s been gone.

When he comes back, he has a different outfit on. He locks the door deliberately behind him and walks over to my bed, and I lay down with my head on the pillow.

“I- uh,” I say. “I’m not sure how this works.”

He sets the box of condoms on my nightstand and I can’t help but giggle that he brought the whole thing - how much does he plan on doing with me tonight? I don’t say anything though. I feel like we’ve created a moment now, and I don’t want to ruin it.

He pulls off his shirt and joins me on the bed, sitting with my legs on his lap. “It can just be like what we normally do,” he says, massaging my calves. “It doesn’t have to ‘be’ like anything.”

“Okay,” I say, resting my arms above my head. “Come kiss me, then.”  

He smirks and crawls over my body, resting on his side next to me as we kiss. I turn on my side too and run my hand up his bare chest, skimming it up the side of his neck to lightly press my thumb over his pulse point. When his tongue glides into my mouth, I moan lightly and press myself closer to him, arching my back as I go, and he winds one arm around me to rest over my butt. 

He bites my lower lip as my hips twitch against him and squeezes my butt tight in his hand. That makes electricity buzz between my legs and he smiles against me, rubbing his hand over that same part of my body in a rhythmic, repetitive pattern.

He pushes me onto my back and dives at my neck, and I hold the back of his head as he opens his mouth on me. I take his wrist that’s resting on the mattress by my waist and move it to my breast, and he moans into my mouth as I press his fingers in tightly.

“Just like that,” I breathe. “Do you want me to take my bra off? I can take it off.”

“If you want to,” he says. “Only if you want to.”

“I do,” I say. “Just… let-let me sit up real quick.”

He pulls off and watches me as I wind my arms around my back, grabbing for the little clasp. Once it’s undone, I hold the material to my chest and feel his eyes searing into me, which is making me self-conscious.

“You’re kinda staring,” I say.

He blinks hard. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Sorry, god. I-I didn’t mean to. Here.” He looks the other way. “You can do it now.”

I slide the straps off of my arms and wiggle out of my bra, hearing it hit the wooden floor with a little ‘clack.’

“Okay,” I say. “Jackson. You can look at me.” 

His eyes drink me in, and I lay down flat again.

“Well, come here,” I say, and pull his body overtop of mine again.

“Can I touch them?” he asks. 

“I want you to,” I say.  

“I’m gonna go slow,” he says. “As slow as you want me to.”

I smile to myself as he gently presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then below my ear, then at the angle of my collarbone, then down to the swell of my breast.

I gasp a little bit when his thumb traces the round underside of it, and his lips part to take my nipple into his mouth. My back arches and my hips squirm; I love the way his tongue feels as it laps at the hardening bud and makes it stand on end.  

I’ve never felt like this before. There’s an insistent, tightening feeling between my legs and I know what my body wants to happen. I want it so bad. I want to know what it feels like to completely give myself over to another person, and I want that person to be Jackson.  

“Do you like that?” he asks. He’s genuinely asking. 

“Y-yeah,” I say, barely able to put together coherent thoughts. “I really like it. Keep going.”

As his mouth pays plenty of attention to one breast, his hand kneads the other. I wrap one leg around his calf and moan with my mouth open, and feels his hips push against mine involuntarily. I can tell he wants this just as much as I do, but he’s in better control of himself. He’s done this before. He definitely has. Right?

“Jackson,” I say, skimming my hand over the back of his head. “Have you ever had sex before?”

He pulls away from my breast only to go back and press gentle kisses to the outline of my nipple, still stroking the other one with his thumb.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have.”

I’m not bothered by that fact. Actually, I’m comforted by it. At least one of us knows what we’re doing. It’s better than if both of us were going into this blind.

“Okay,” I say.

“Why?” he asks.

“You know I haven’t,” I say. “I just… I just wanted to know for sure.” I let out a shaky breath. “Is it okay that I haven’t?”

“Of course,” he says. “You’re fine, you’re perfect. Everything is okay.”

My body feels warm. I can’t control the smile that find its way to my lips.

“Right?” he continues. “Everything is okay?” 

“Everything is great,” I say. “And, um… just so you know…” I glance between our bodies. “You can touch me. Down there.”

“Yeah?” he says. 

I nod my head and move his hand that was on my chest to rest it on my hip. He strokes my skin with his thumb then dips it below the waistband of my sweatpants, and I take a deep breath. I want him to touch me. I want it really bad.

“I’m just gonna take them off,” I say, squeezing my arms between our bodies to shimmy out of my pants. I kick them to the end of the bed and am left just in my underwear underneath him, and I’m starting to feel a little scared.

“I like these,” he says, which takes me out of my head. I look down at my choice of underwear today to see that they’re white with emojis covering them - all different types.  

“Oh, god,” I say, covering my face with my hands. “That’s… oh god. That’s embarrassing. I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t know- I didn’t think…” 

“Don’t say sorry,” he says, kissing the top of my ribcage. “I like them. They’re cute.”

As his lips go lower, my body tenses. He sucks the skin around my bellybutton between his teeth, and my thighs clench together due to the tightness between my legs.

“Is that good?” he asks.

“Really good,” I say, and feel his fingers on my inner thighs to gently pull them apart. “Jackson,” I say, sounding a little alarmed as I prop myself up on my elbows. “Are you gonna give me oral?”

A surprised smile breaks onto his face as he chuckles. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “I was planning on it. Is that okay?”

I flop onto my back again and pucker my lips to let out a long breath. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s good. I just wanted to make sure… I-I don’t really know what it’s… I’m not sure of-” 

“Do you want me to?” he asks. 

I bend my neck to look at him. “Yeah,” I say. “I really want you to give me an…” My cheeks flame.

“I’ll make you come,” he says. “Don’t worry about that. You just gotta let me. Tell me it’s okay. I just want to make sure. I’m not gonna push you.” 

“It’s okay,” I say, then throw my arms above my head again.

He presses a kiss to the middle of my panties, which makes my heart start to beat really fast. I think it’s going to burst out of my chest, I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. He gently pulls them off of my hips and down my legs, and I realize that this is happening. I’m naked in front of a boy who’s about to go down on me. After this, I won’t be the same. And if everything goes right, I’m going to have my first orgasm.

I know I’m overthinking this and I shouldn’t be. But it’s so hard to get out of my own head.  

He kisses my inner thighs gently and moves them apart again, and I wonder if everything is okay down there. Should I have shaved? Do I smell okay? Is he grossed out by me? I don’t know what to do about my wild thoughts. I can’t calm them down or make them shut up. I just want to enjoy this, enjoy him, that’s all I want. But I just keep _thinking_.

When his mouth closes over my heat, though, I stop all that. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but it feels incredible. I don’t even feel like I have a body anymore, it feels so amazing. All I know is that his tongue is inside me and his lips and teeth are all over me in places that no one has ever touched before, and I don’t know what to do with my hands or the sounds I’m making.

The pads of his fingers are digging into the outsides of my hips, guiding as I lift them up to meet his face. When he opens his mouth wider, I moan his name and arch my back, spreading my legs as far as they’ll go with one hanging off the side of the bed. 

“Oh, Jackson,” I say urgently. “Jackson, Jackson, Jackson, oh my god. I think I’m… I think I’m gonna…”

“You can come for me,” he says, breaking his mouth away only to say those words before going back. “Go ahead, piano girl. You’re gonna come. That’s a good thing.”

So I do. My knees bend upwards and I cover my face with my hands as I let out sounds that at first only sound like sobs, and then actually turn into them. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve started to cry without any control over myself.

“April?” Jackson says, his eyebrows furrowed together. “What’s going on? You okay?”

I start to cry harder. I have no idea what’s wrong with me, but I’m feeling way too many things at once. I can’t do this. I grapple for my underwear and shove them on clumsily, and throw a t-shirt on over my head so I’m a bit more decent.

“I can’t do the rest,” I say, breathing so shallowly that I’m afraid I’ll start hyperventilating. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’m just-I’m just…” I drop my elbows to my knees and lean forward, crying into my palms.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s okay. You’re not ready. You’re okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” I say, hastily wiping my tears. “I told you I was, and you made me feel so good, and I-”

“No,” he says. “Listen, stop. I don’t care about what you said, I care about what you feel. And if you’re not ready, fuck this. We can just hang out. I don’t care. We’re friends, right? That means I put your needs before mine. We’re cool.”

I sniffle. “We’re cool?”

He smiles, and it almost knocks me off the bed. “More than cool.”


	6. Chapter 6

**JACKSON**

After what happened earlier tonight went down, April wanted to be alone. She didn’t necessarily have to say it, but I could tell. So I made up some excuse like I was super tired from my game earlier and wanted to go to sleep, then went back to my own room. 

And now I’m lying here in my bed, in the dark, alone. Mark is out partying somewhere and probably won’t be back until after I wake up tomorrow. 

I wish I wasn’t by myself in this bed, though. I want April here. At least, I think I do. I have no clue what to make of my stupid thoughts lately. They won’t shut up. And that is something I’m definitely not used to. 

I close my eyes and let out a long breath with my hands resting on my stomach. Not that long ago, I had seen her naked. Like, completely naked. I saw her boobs. Her whole body, it was right in front of me. From what I know about her, that was a big deal for her. 

It was a big deal for me, too. 

I got to touch her in places no one’s ever touched before. I made her come for the very first time in her whole fucking life - that was me. Her first orgasm, that was all me. 

Why the hell am I finding myself smiling about it right now? Sick fuck. 

But still, I can’t help it. I can’t help but go back and relive everything I just felt lying on top of her on her small blue bed with Taylor Swift watching us from inches away. Her body was so soft and smooth and responsive under me, I think I could’ve kept touching her all night. I would’ve, had she let me. 

But that’s not what she wanted. After I made her come, it was too much. I can only try to understand it, maybe it was too much feeling all at once after a really shitty night with Alex. That would make sense. And I wasn’t about to force her to keep going - that’d be fucked up. 

She had tasted really… good, though. I’ve eaten out a handful of other girls, and it wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy doing it for them, because I did. But with April, the whole act had really turned  _ me _ on, too. Just seeing how much it made her feel and how much she let herself go, I loved that. I loved being the one who was able to do that to her. The very first, no less. 

It definitely inflates my ego. 

And now, without realizing it, I’ve gotten hard lying here thinking about her. Fuck. 

I glance around and squint through the darkness to check that my door’s locked, and it is. If Mark gets home, I should have enough time to make myself decent before he has a chance to get in, but I don’t want to waste any time. Who knows when he’ll be back? I’m not about to text and ask. He’d see right through me. 

So I just do it. I push the covers back, reach under the bed for my box of tissues and lotion, and wrap my hand around my dick. Even with just that pressure, it releases so much tension that’s been building up ever since April took her shirt off earlier. 

She wanted me, that much was obvious. I’ve never seen her that forceful or dominant in the entire time I’ve known her. She told me I make her feel good, and that’s what she wanted to feel. Good. But is that the only reason she wanted to have sex? To get her mind off Alex? 

Fuck, right now I don’t care. As I move my hand up and down and picture her mouth, I don’t care about reasoning. The only thing that’s on my mind is the image of her body keening under mine - her eyes shut and her lips parted. She’s a goddamn masterpiece. 

It doesn’t take long for me to come, and I feel guilty afterwards. Should I have been picturing her like that? Is that okay now? I have no idea. Why am I so hung up on this, so confused? It should not be bothering me this much. 

I clean myself up and get back into bed, sighing. It’s late, but I pull out my phone anyway and shoot her a text. She’s probably asleep, but at least it’ll make me feel better. 

**SENT:** hey, u doing okay?

I put my phone aside, screen face-down. I don’t want it to seem like I’m waiting for her reply, so I stare off into space and try to force my mind onto other things. I’m not sure how much time has passed when I pick my phone back up to see that she’s responded. 

**RECEIVED:** yeah. Are you? 

Relief courses through my body that she texted back, but I frown when I realize how much I’d been depending on her answer to feel good. Why? So stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

**SENT:** cool. Jw. thought id text you, i cant sleep 

**RECEIVED:** me neither. but im gonna try. Ill talk to you soon, okay? 

**SENT:** sure. gn piano girl 

I sigh and plug my phone in for the night. I feel bad. Even though I didn’t, I feel like I forced her into something she wasn’t ready for. But it had been her idea, and I didn’t do any forcing of any kind. But still, I can’t help but feel this way. 

Maybe we just need a break from each other. There’s nothing wrong with that. And when we meet back up again, it’ll be like a fresh start.  

*** 

The next afternoon, I’m sitting out in the quad when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Expecting April, I turn around with a smile on my face, but it’s not her. 

It’s my step-sister, Maggie. She’s older than me by a few years and lives in this neighborhood, close to her dad. Her dad, who my mom married, and now they have a long distance relationship between here and Boston. It’s pretty weird. 

“Hey,” I say, smiling for a different reason. I haven’t seen her in forever, and we get along well. Before I moved in, she showed me around the city and helped it feel like home. “What’s up, Mags?”  

She sits down in the grass next to me, taking her backpack off her shoulders. She goes to Loyola, which is about a half hour away on the Red Line. 

“Not a lot,” she says. “Just was walking around the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by your dorm. But I found you here first.”  

I lay back in the grass, my hands behind my head. “Yeah, just came here to chill,” I say. “It’s nice.”  

“You like it here on campus?” she asks, looking around. “Seems nice. Seems you.” 

I laugh. “It’s very me.” 

“How’s soccer?” 

“Pretty good,” I say. 

“You schooling all of them?” she asks, nudging my calf. 

“Of course I am,” I say. “I’m a stud.” 

“Cocky ass,” she says. 

“How’s your dad?” I ask. 

“He’s good,” she says. “How’s your mom?” 

“Good, too,” I say. “Obsessed with me, as usual, though. Won’t stop calling. I’m like, once a day is more than enough to talk!” I laugh again. “But yeah. She just misses me, I guess. Can’t be too mad at her.” 

“Oh, no…” Maggie says. “Don’t be mad at her. She’ll get used to it. Are you missing home at all?"

I shake my head. “Not at all. I love being apart from… all that. I like being here, where people aren’t like, freaking out over the fact that I’m an Avery.” 

“Not yet,” she chides. 

“Yeah, exactly,” I say. 

Maggie looks around, squinting into the sunlight. “Made any friends?” she says. 

I shrug. “My roommate’s pretty cool. He’s really weird, but I’d call us friends, I think.” 

“That’s good,” she says. “It’s always good to be cool with your roommate. I know I wasn’t that cool with mine my freshman year. I’m so glad I live off-campus now.” She chuckles. “Any girls?” 

“I, uh…” My voice dies away as I think of how to answer. I like talking to Maggie, but we’re not exactly close. She’s not the first person who I want to get into the whole April thing with. “No, not yet.” 

She raises her eyebrows. “Really? I’m surprised.” 

“Yeah, well,” I say, trying to take the focus off of myself now. “How about for you?” 

“Well, I’ve been seeing Deluca again,” she says, rolling her eyes at herself. “I’m sure you don’t wanna hear about that.” 

I cross my arms and shake my head; at first I was going to negate her and say that I don’t mind, but she already knows. “Yeah…” I say, and she laughs. “Not really.” 

“I wouldn’t either,” she says, then her phone rings in her bag. “Oh, shit.” She pulls it out and glances at the screen, then rolls her eyes. “It’s my dad. I’m supposed to be at the house tonight, dad and daughter dinner. I’m already late, in his opinion.” She stands up and hoists her backpack back on her shoulders. “I’m glad I got to see you, Jackson,” she says.

I stand up and give her a hug, patting her on the back as we part. “See ya soon, sis,” I say, then wave to her as she walks away. 

The sun is starting to set and I haven’t done any homework, so I decide that it’s probably best for me to head off, too. When I make it onto the fourth floor, I see the back of April’s head just disappearing into her room, so I call out her name. 

“Hey, April,” I say.

The door pauses, open just a crack. She peeks her head out, and her eyes are red and puffy. 

“You okay?” I ask. 

“I’m fine, Jackson,” she says, her voice coming out as more of a croak. 

“Are you crying?” I ask, taking a step closer.  

She wipes beneath her eyes harshly. “I said I’m fine,” she says firmly. “I have to go now.” 

“Oh, okay…” I say, one hand on the wall. “Do you… do you need to talk? Is something wrong?” 

“I have to go,” she says, and shuts the door in my face. 

I stand there for a second, shocked. I have no idea what I did to warrant that type of reaction from her, so I think back in my mind. I stopped when she said stop. I left when I felt she didn’t want me. I texted to make sure she was okay, and left her alone all day. What more could there be? 

I can’t think of anything. Maybe she’s just having a bad day, and it has nothing to do with me at all. As I walk back to my room, that’s what I tell myself. She probably didn’t even think about me all day, and I’m being super dramatic about this. 

I sit at my desk and try to do some homework, but I can’t get her face out of my head. I can’t help thinking that it had to do with something I did, even though I don’t know what that could be. By the time Mark comes in, I’m past the point of irritated and on my way to pissed, and every little sound he makes is pushing me further to the edge. 

“Saved all your homework Sunday night?” he asks, plopping down on his bed. 

“Mm-hmm,” I say, pencil scratching on the paper. 

“Sucks for you,” he says. “I didn’t have any.” 

“Good for fucking you,” I grumble.

“Jesus,” he replies. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?” 

“Nothing,” I say. 

He laughs, puffing a few breaths from his nose. “Your woman, it sounds like.” 

“She’s not my-” I cut myself off. To Mark, that’s exactly what April is. My argument doesn’t work. “It’s whatever,” I say instead. 

“Doesn’t sound like whatever,” he continues. 

“Well, it is,” I say. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m trying to get this done.” 

“Alright, alright,” he says. “I’m here if you need me.” 

As I try to work, it’s eating me alive. I can’t concentrate enough to get anything done. I decide that talking about it will make me feel better, even if I have to be vague. 

“She’s treating me like I did something wrong,” I say, out of the blue. “And I didn’t. At least I don’t think I did.” 

Mark’s head turns to face me where he lies on his bed, twirling his fidget spinner. “Explain,” he says. 

I sigh. “So, last night…” I begin. I chew the inside of my cheek, then tell myself just to go for it. What does it matter if he knows? He’s a decent guy, he’s not going to make a big deal out of it. He said he’s here to help me, and I definitely need it. “We were gonna have sex. She asked to. It was _her_ idea,” I say.  

“Nice, nice,” he says. 

“So, yeah. It was going great. It was hot… she-she’s hot,” I say. I tell myself I’m allowed to say these things - one, because she’s my girlfriend in Mark’s eyes and two, because they’re true. “I was kinda easing her into it, because, well, you know… she-” 

“She’s a virgin,” he finishes.

“Yeah,” I say. “How’d you know?” 

He narrows his eyes. “It’s not hard to figure out,” he says, like it’s obvious. 

“Okay, whatever,” I say. “Anyway, I’m going slow. Making sure she wants it, all that kinda stuff. I legit just kept  _ asking _ , dude. I knew it was the right thing to do. I didn’t wanna push her, I didn’t wanna get all in my head, I kept making sure she was ready. And she kept saying yes. So I went down on her, and she came, then she… started crying.” 

Mark grimaces. “Ouch,” he hisses. 

I choose not to tell him about the shit that went down with April and Alex earlier that night. It would be way too confusing, and to him it wouldn’t make sense. Leaving that out probably hinders my chances of getting accurate advice, but it’s just not worth it. 

“She started crying, and I told her we could stop. Obviously. I’m not gonna keep going when… no. That’s fucked up. And after she stopped crying finally, I could tell she wanted to be alone, so I came back here. I waited a while and texted her, and she said she was okay. But I still left her alone today, just to give her some space, I don’t know. Whatever. And I’m so fucking confused because I just saw her in the hallway and it looked like she was crying, and when I asked her why she got all pissed at me!” 

Mark rubs his temples and raises his eyebrows. “Fucking shit,” he says. “You’re all in your feelings, aren’t you?” 

“No, god, I-”  

“You are,” he says. “Avery, it’s fine. You like your girl a lot, that’s a good thing. But the best advice I have is to just… apologize.” 

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” I say, throwing my hands up. “At least I don’t think I did. I can’t remember doing shit. I thought I did everything right.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Mark says, resting his spinner on his forehead and flicking it. “Say you’re sorry anyway. Odds are, you did something. Even if you don’t know what it is. And you saying you’re sorry is only gonna help your case.” 

I let out a long breath. Maybe he’s right. I’d like to know what bothered her so much before I go apologizing, but I guess I can’t have everything. I don’t want to bother her again tonight, but I’ll see her tomorrow for music theory. I’ll have the perfect chance then. 

The next day, I get to class early, knowing that she’ll be there already and that we’ll hopefully get a chance to talk. I open the classroom door quietly and notice April at the piano, playing a piece that I can see is called Metamorphosis 1. She’s playing it beautifully, of course, leaning forward with her forehead crinkled as she reads the music. 

I don’t think she hears me come in. I sit down in my usual seat, kick back, and listen while she finishes. The sound she creates is so beautiful, and I don’t know how she does it. I’m sure no one else has ever made music sound this sweet. 

When she’s finished, I clear my throat. She looks over her shoulder at me, not surprised in the slightest, then turns back to her music. 

“I was hoping we could talk,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.  

“I need to practice,” she says. “Maybe another time.” 

She starts to play again, starting the song all over. “April,” I say. “You can’t ignore me forever.”  

“I can for right now,” she says, fingers floating over the keys. “I don’t wanna talk.”  

“I’m sorry,” I say, and even I can hear how desperate and pathetic I sound. Why am I doing this? What does it matter? 

She doesn’t acknowledge me. I’m not even sure if she hears me, and I tell myself that I don’t care. I stomp back to my seat as some other people start to file in, and luckily today is an individual work day. I wouldn’t have been able to take it if it were a group work day. 

The only silver lining is that Alex doesn’t show up. 

After practice that evening, I’m still confused, angry and hurt. Mark can definitely tell something is up when I get back to the room, even after I get out of the shower. 

“You and I are going for drinks,” he says, getting up and collecting his shoes. 

“What?” I say, adjusting the towel on my hips. “I’m only 19.” 

“I have a fake,” Mark says. “I’ll cover you. Trust me. And Irish Eyes doesn’t even card, so calm your jets. Get some clothes on and we’ll go.” 

I don’t have much of an argument. Drinking sounds better than the alternative - which was staying in and doing homework, so I follow his lead. The bar isn’t far away, and it’s not that busy on a Monday night. There’s some trivia going on, but not everyone is participating. Mark and I sit at a booth across from the bar, and he orders us both a beer. 

After our drinks come, he leans forward with his elbows on the table. “So,” he says. “Did you take my advice?” 

I take a long swig, glancing around with a little bit of a paranoia. “Uh, yeah,” I say, swallowing. 

“And?” 

I shake my head. “Didn’t work,” I say. “Didn’t do shit. She didn’t wanna talk, didn’t wanna listen. She ignored me.” 

“Damn,” he says, snapping his head to one side. “That’s rough. What did she say when you apologized?” 

“Nothing,” I say. “I don’t think that’s gonna work. She’s more complicated than that.”  

Mark takes a long drink, sighing when he comes up for air. “I don’t know what to tell you then, man. This is over my head.” 

I chuckle to myself. It didn’t have to get that complicated for it to go over his head, but at least he tried. “It’s alright,” I say. “I can figure it out on my own. Figure her out, I mean.” 

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I have faith in you.” 

“Thanks,” I say, then look towards the bar. Almost as if on cue, I see the back of a head that I instantly recognize. It’s April, and there’s a much older man leaning on the bar next to her. I can see his profile - he looks to be at least 35 - and he’s got a huge, shit-eating grin on his face. 

She’s grinning politely, holding the base of her glass in front of her. Her shoulders are tense and her body is closed off with one arm across her lap as she subtly leans away from him.  

He’s obviously bothering her. This ancient dinosaur with a boner obviously has no place making conversation with a college freshman. I look at the bartender to see if he plans on doing anything, but he’s not paying attention. 

There’s no way I’m going to just sit here and watch her get tortured.  

“I’ll be back,” I say to Mark, and he looks at me with a confused expression. “Just… I’ll be back,” I repeat.  

I walk up to the bar with purpose, getting a hint of what the guy is saying before I speak up. 

“Yeah, I have a houseboat in Belmont harbor,” he says. “If you came, I’d take you out on the lake, show you all around. Great views. You’d love them. I-” 

“Hey, babe,” I say, winding an arm around her shoulders. She jumps and looks back at me, her facial expression changing a million times in a second. First she looks scared, then shocked, then confused, then finally… relieved. “Who’s this?” 

“This is… uh, this is Robert,” she says. “Mr. Stark.”  

Nice, calling him Mr. something really should knock him down a peg. I smile and squeeze her closer, and she leans into my chest. “Oh,” Robert says, laughing nervously. “You… uh, forgot to mention you had a boyfriend.” 

“Oh,” April says, holding the hand of mine that’s draped over her arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on.” 

“Whatever,” Robert says, then grumbles something under his breath before stalking off. 

I unwind my arm from her instantly, and she digs in her purse for a few dollars that she puts down on the bar. She gathers her things and starts to get up, but I block her way. 

“I have to go,” she says. 

“Why’re you here?” I ask. I make eye contact with Mark across the room, and he nods knowingly. My guess is he’s not the type to mind drinking alone, because I don’t plan on going back to him. 

“Does it matter?” she asks, maneuvering past me and leading the way out of the bar. 

I follow her out onto the sidewalk and surprisingly, she stops walking. Out here, it’s much cooler and quieter, and I instantly feel calmer than I did inside.  

“Thanks for getting him away from me,” she says. 

“He was a creep,” I say.  

“What were  _ you _ doing there, anyway?” she asks. 

“I’ll only answer when you do.”  

She sighs and adjusts her purse. “I had a bad day,” she says. “Today and yesterday. I just felt like… it would help, I don’t know. I’ve seen it in movies.” She pauses. “It didn’t.”  

“Didn’t help me, either,” I say. “But seeing you was pretty good.”  

She screws her mouth up in a frown and starts to walk away, but I catch up with her easily. “What is up with you right now?” I ask, my tone borderline aggressive. 

“What is up with  _ me _ ?” she asks, flipping around right before a crosswalk. “I don’t think you’re the one who should be asking that.” 

I’m so confused. I literally have no idea what she’s talking about. “I, uh… okay,” I say. “Clear things up for me. Why are you mad? Was it something I did?”  

She crosses the street and I match her stride. “Was it something you did,” she murmurs, then turns to face me once we’re on the sidewalk again. “I know what we’re doing isn’t real. I know that. I know it’s ‘fake dating’ or whatever. But still, Jackson, geez. I’m a person with feelings!” 

I’m lost. I feel like a complete idiot, but I’m still lost. “I’m… I don’t know what you’re-”  

“I saw you hugging that girl on the quad!” she says, her voice rising. “Yesterday. I saw you hugging her, after all that we did on Saturday night-” 

It all comes back to me. Maggie. She saw me hugging Maggie. And that’s why she’s been so goddamn mad.

“You just wrote me off after you got me in bed. I didn’t think you were mad that we didn’t go all the way, but I guess I thought too much of you. Because you just go and-” 

“April,” I say.  

“Start hugging other girls left and right! And-” 

“April!” I say.

“What?” she snaps.

“That was my step-sister,” I say, a smile inching onto my face. I can’t help but feel relieved that that’s the reason she’s so upset. Over a big misunderstanding. This is something I can fix. “Maggie is my step-sister. My mom is married to her dad. There’s nothing…” I stop talking to smile again. “There’s nothing going on between us. She’s my family, dude.” 

April’s face blanches. “She’s....” 

“My sister,” I say. “She came to visit me, catch up for a sec. I didn’t know you were there. I would’ve introduced you.” 

“Your sister,” she says, dumbfounded.  

“Yeah,” I say, still grinning. “It wasn’t anything weird.” 

“Oh,” she says, crossing her arms. “Oh. Well. Now I feel like an idiot.” 

“You’re not an idiot,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as we start to walk again. “You’re just jealous, that’s all.” 

“I am not,” she says, all defensive. “I’m not. I just… I was hurt that you’d go from you know, being with me, to just… moving onto the next girl.” She looks down at the ground. “I didn’t think you were like that.” 

“I’m not,” I say. “I loved our night on Saturday. I haven’t really stopped thinking about it, as sad as that is.”  

She looks up at me, her eyes shining under the yellow glow of the streetlamps. “You haven’t?” 

I shake my head, and she smiles at the ground. We walk the rest of the way home together. 

***

April and I don’t jump right back into our old dynamics easily. Our class on Wednesday is a little strained and awkward, and she’s busy with church choir practice, so I don’t see much of her for the rest of the week. So on Saturday for my soccer game, I’m pretty sure she won’t come. I don’t blame her, either. The weather has gotten cold, and if I didn’t have to be out here on the field carrying this team’s weight, I wouldn’t be here either. 

I’m on the bench when the game starts, and I can’t help but glance over my shoulder just to check if she’s there. There aren’t many people in the bleachers, and she’s not one of the few. I don’t let myself feel disappointed, though. I turn back around and watch my team make stupid mistakes that I’ll have to fix in a few minutes as I try to keep my mind off her. 

I’m called out onto the field before halftime, and I jog out with enthusiasm. I don’t think I could’ve handled sitting there watching the game go to shit any longer. One of the first things I do is get the ball away from St. Xavier, who we’re playing against, and kick it into their goal. 

Once I do, I hear a familiar scream. I’m sure my whole face must light up when I look towards the bleachers, because I see April sitting there in a thick hoodie, winter gloves, and a bright pink hat with a pompom on top. I can’t stop staring at her, cheering her head off all bundled up. She came. She didn’t miss it. She’s here. 

I keep going, telling myself that now I have to play my best. She’s watching, so this has to be good. I won’t play anything less than great for her. I score a few more goals before the half, and when the whistle blows for us to take our break, she’s already heading down the bleacher steps. 

I meet her on the track, wiping sweat off my forehead as I drink from my water bottle. “You came,” I say, as she hops down to stand in front of me. 

“I did,” she says, winding both arms around my waist. “And you scored.” 

“Those were for you,” I say, pulling her even closer after tossing my water to the ground. 

“Show-off,” she says lightly, then puckers her lips out all cute. “Good luck kiss. I want you to win.” 

My heart swells. I hope literally everyone is watching us right now. I press my lips to hers and my stomach jumps when I do - it’s only been a few days, but I missed kissing her so much. There’s not another feeling like it. 

“Hey,” she says. “I wanted to say I was sorry. For jumping to conclusions, acting horrible to you-”

“Forget about it,” I say, kissing her again. 

“I’m just glad we’re back to normal now,” she says, slowly shifting her weight from foot-to-foot. 

“Me, too.” 

“Go kill it,” she says, waving me off as the whistle blows again. “I’ll be up here!” 

I can’t stop smiling as the game starts again. Now, I’m barely thinking about the game. All I’m thinking about is her and the way her soft lips felt against mine. 

I score another goal, and smile proudly up at her when I do. Without looking, I start to run away from the goal and back towards the ball, but feel a big collision before I can get far. Suddenly, I’m on my back, chest heaving, blinking up at the white, cloudy sky.  

The whistle blows for a foul, and I hear footsteps pounding towards me. I close my eyes for a while then open them wide as I try to reorient myself. It’s not as easy as it sounds, though. The world is spinning and I’m not sure if I can get up. 

“Is he okay?” 

April’s voice. I turn my head a little and see her Ugg boots standing at eye level, then she kneels down at my side. 

My coach asks me if I can sit up, and the ref supports my shoulders as I do. The on-site trainer shines a light in my eyes, and nods to herself. “Could be a concussion,” she says. “He needs to go get checked out.” 

Fuck. A concussion, all because I was thinking about April and her soft lips when I was supposed to be playing soccer. Typical. Just my luck. 

“A concussion?” April says, as my coach helps me to my feet. 

“Could be,” the trainer says. “You coming with?” 

“Of course I am,” she says, and my smile is back.  

***

I definitely have a concussion. Surprisingly, before now, I’d never had one before in my life. I’m pretty sure if my mom found out, I’d be dead and never be able to play sports again. So I don’t plan on telling her. 

I got all the treatment I need from the doctor and I’m not allowed back in the game for a few weeks, until I’m cleared. I’m dizzy, a little sick to my stomach, and very sensitive to light, so April’s kept them low. 

She said it was best we go back to her room and not mine. Mine is a mess and Mark is too loud, she said, and she’ll take care of me. 

I didn’t put up a fight. 

So now, with only her twinkling lights on in the corner, we’re both in our pajamas. I have on my gray sweatpants and a DePaul t-shirt, and she’s wearing soft blue pants with snowflakes on them and a black camisole. Her hair is braided to one side, resting on her shoulder, which I can see perfectly from where my head is on her lap. 

On the bed, she’s sitting with her back against the wall and my head on her thigh, gently running her fingertips over my scalp and forehead as my eyes threaten to close. I work hard to keep them open, though, if only to look up at her face. 

“You really took a hit out here,” she whispers, tracing my eyebrows with her pointer fingers. “How’s your head feeling?” 

“Okay,” I say. “The ibuprofen helped.” 

“That’s all you get for the rest of the night, mister,” she says, placing her palm flat on my forehead. “I don’t want you to get addicted.”  

I laugh and close my eyes briefly. “Yes, doctor,” I say. 

“At least you guys won the game,” she says. “Was it worth it?” 

I open my eyes back up and look at her - the subtle pink of her lips, her long, black eyelashes, and her glistening green eyes. “Yeah,” I say. “It was.” 

“Well, there you have it, then,” she says, moving her hand from my forehead down to stroke my cheek. “You should get concussions more often.” 

“I really should,” I say, blinking slowly. 

We’re quiet for a long moment; a moment where my eyelids grow heavy and she stares calmly at the opposite wall, still caressing my face. 

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” she asks, glancing down at me. “I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want anything to irritate your head.” 

The corners of my lips pull upwards. “I think that’d be best,” I say. “You don’t mind?” 

She shakes her head. “I mean,” she says. “We’ve already proven that we can fit all night in a twin bed.” 

“Right,” I say. “And this one’s probably cleaner than mine was.” 

“Very true,” she says, giggling. “Okay, then it’s settled. You’ll stay.” She nods affirmatively. “Until you’re better, you should stay until you’re better.” 

I cover her hand that’s on my cheek with my own. “It could take weeks,” I say.

She makes pointed eye contact with me. “Until you’re better,” she says again. 

“Okay,” I agree. “Until I’m better.” 

She bends at the waist and kisses me, her lips sideways over my own, lingering before pulling away and sitting back up.

We sit in another calm silence until she speaks again. “Do you want me to… sing something?” she asks. “Or maybe the sound will aggravate your head. I don’t have to.” 

“No,” I say, leaping at the chance. This is the first time she’s ever offered, and no matter how tired I am, I would never pass this up. “It won’t bother me.” 

“You sure?” she asks. “The noise? I know you’re sensitive to noise.”  

“Your singing isn’t noise,” I say, closing my eyes. 

“Okay,” she says, and I can hear her smile without seeing it. “Any requests?” 

I tap my chin as I think. “Know anything by the Arctic Monkeys?” I ask. 

I can practically hear her eyes roll. “I only know one,” she says. “And it’s kinda cheesy.” 

“I don’t care,” I say. “I like them. Go ahead.” 

“Okay,” she says, clearing her throat. “Don’t judge me, okay? I almost never sing in front of my friends. It’s more of a… public thing.” 

“You’d already be singing by now if you stopped making excuses,” I say, my voice slurring because of my sleepiness. 

“Okay, okay,” she says, then starts to sing. “ _Baby, I’m yours… and I’ll be yours until the stars fall from the sky… yours, until the rivers all run dry. In other words, until I die, baby I’m yours._ ” 

I smile as she continues to sing. Her voice is so sweet and as soft as a whisper, ghosting through the room as she gently skims her hands over my head. I couldn’t be more relaxed or at peace right now if I tried, and it’s all because of her. 

I fall asleep with my head on her lap as she sings, letting myself drift off while feeling completely safe, taken care of, and loved. 

_ Baby, I’m yours.  _


	7. Chapter 7

**APRIL**

On Sunday morning, I wake up with a warm and sturdy body beside me. Actually, it’s not really beside me at all, it’s more like resting on top of me.

There’s not much room in my twin bed, but Jackson and I did our best to make it work. Last night, I threw off all of my decorative pillows that he claims have no practical use, and cleared off any excess blankets. That made a little more space, but still. It’s only a twin bed and he’s not exactly small. 

I’m lying on my back, and Jackson’s head is between my neck and shoulder, his hairline just touching my jaw. The arm underneath him is numb, but I try not to pay it any attention. For some reason I’m really enjoying him this close to me, and I’m usually not a very touchy person.

He has one arm slung heavy over my ribcage, his hand tucked underneath - sandwiched between my body and the mattress. Under the covers, our legs are tangled together and our bodies are creating so much heat that it’s more like a sauna than a bed. I smile to myself at how soundly he’s sleeping, his shoulder rising and falling with each of his deep breaths, and I lift my free arm to run my fingertips down his bare side.

Of course, he didn’t sleep with a shirt on. He claimed that it would be impossible, and I didn’t put up much of a fight. And I’m still in my cami, so our sticky, sweaty skin is all pressed up against each other. But I don’t mind at all.

In fact, I kind of like it.  

I shift onto my side to get more comfortable, and his forehead crinkles. “Morning,” I whisper, tracing the shell of his ear with my pointer finger. 

His eyes haven’t opened yet, but he takes in a deep, cleansing breath.

“Did you sleep good?” I ask. 

He nods slowly, eyelashes fluttering. When his eyes open, I smile at their familiar warmth. “Hey,” he says, voice all gravelly.

“You’re very warm,” I tell him, and hug his head closer with my numb arm.

“More like hot,” he slurs, chuckling at his own joke as his eyes drift shut again.  

I scoff and lay a flat hand on his chest. “How’s your head?” I ask. “Still sore?”

“A little,” he says. “A kiss probably wouldn’t hurt.” 

I match the devious smirk on his face. “Kisses make everything better,” I say. “It’s a proven fact.” 

I slide my arm out from underneath him so I can prop myself up on my elbow. I frame his face with one hand and bend to press my lips gently to the swollen spot on his forehead, and he closes his eyes as I do. 

“I think I need another one,” he murmurs, reaching up to thread his fingers through my hair. I press my lips softly all over his face - from the swollen spot, to his temple, the apple of his cheek, his chin, and finally, very tentatively, his lips.

I pull away and smile at him, then lie on my back again. This time, he turns on his side and looks down at me, his eyes searching my face, but I’m not sure what for. I blink up at him, leaning into his hand as he runs my hair through his fingers, then he drags his fingertips down my cheek. 

“Your hair is really soft,” he says.

I make a little sound, a tiny laugh. “I use good conditioner,” I say.

He leans forward and presses his nose to the side of my head, and I can hear him taking in a long breath. “Smells like it,” he says. 

I feel my cheeks heat up with a blush that I try to hide as he lifts his face to look at me again. “It-it’s…” I stammer. “Coconut. A-and vanilla, or something.”

“Or something,” he repeats.

I turn on my side now, too, so we’re both facing each other, and trail my fingertips down his arm. Once I get to the end of it, I take his hand and draw circles over the veiny surface, making nonsensical shapes and patterns as I look into his sleepy eyes.

“I want you to relax today,” I say. “You need it.” 

“ _You_ need it,” he says, lips puckering in a cute smirk. 

“I don’t,” I say. “I need to go practice my piano at some point today.”

He wraps an arm tight around my waist, pulling my body as close as possible. “Not anytime soon,” he says 

With my face in his armpit, I can’t help but laugh before I yank myself out of there. “You stink,” I tell him, poking his shoulder. “You need a shower, Mr. Closed head injury.”

He groans and rolls over, blinking up at the ceiling. “I barely wake up, and you’re already kicking me out of bed,” he says. “What happened to relaxing?”

“After your shower, then you can lay back down,” I say.

“With you,” he adds. 

“Probably not,” I say. “I don’t wanna wait too long, or else the practice rooms will fill-”

“With you…” he says again, turning to trail one hand down my back until it rests over the swell of my butt. “Or I don’t get in that shower and you’ll have to smell me all day.” 

I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I say.

He makes a little satisfied sound as he starts to sit up. “Thank you very much,” he says, swinging his legs over so his feet touch the floor. “Now, I’m off to use your girly shampoo...whoa.”

The ‘whoa’ comes when he stands up, and he has to outstretch his arms to either side of his body so he won’t topple over.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I say, scrambling up out of bed to support him. “Concussions can make you dizzy, it’s normal. It’s okay. I’ll just… let me help you to the bathroom.”

He puts some of his weight on me as we walk the distance to the bathroom door, and I steady him before turning the water on. “You need anything else? There’s an extra towel right here, all the soap and stuff is in the shower. Do you want music, or something?”

“You singing would be good,” he says, still leaning against the wall. 

“Jackson,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not just gonna sing for you whenever you want, that was a one time-”

“I’m gonna slip in that shower,” he says. “I’m a liability. You’re gonna get in trouble if I fall and bust my ass in _your_ shower.”

I scrunch up my forehead as I look at him. “Your point?” I ask.

“I need you to come with me,” he says.

“Come _with_ you?” I ask, wide-eyed. “In the shower?” I shake my head. “I can’t do that. Anyway, there’s no way I could stop you from falling. I-I’m little, I can’t hold you up, I can’t.”

He sighs. “I need you to,” he says. “Plus, I’ve already seen you naked.”

A violent blush blossoms across my cheeks, neck and chest as he speaks the truth. “I-I…” I stutter. “But I…” I look up and meet his eyes. “I haven’t seen you.”

“Doesn’t seem very fair,” he says, slipping out of his socks using only his feet. I already know I won’t put up much more of a fight; he’ll win this dispute. My body is feeling intense want for him, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m not ready to go all the way, we figured that out last time, but I want… something. That’s for sure.

“Fine,” I say.

“That didn’t take much cajoling,” he says.

“Big word for you,” I say, raising my eyebrows and turning around to pull off my camisole. I don’t know why I snapped at him like that, but sometimes I can’t help it. Things like that just come out.

“So mean to me,” he says, and when I turn around in just my underwear, I find that he’s pulling his boxers down. I can’t help but stare, either. I have to. I’ve never seen a penis before, and I’m not really sure what to make of it. It doesn’t look exactly like I imagined it would, but it’s not unpleasant really. It’s kind of standing halfway up, but I feel weird staring for too long, so I look away. “I don’t care if you look,” he says.

“Oh,” I say quickly. “Well, um, yeah, no. I shouldn’t. That’s weird. I… um, let’s get in?”

He chuckles at looks at my state of undress. “You gonna wear your underwear to take a shower?” he asks. 

I cross my arms tighter over my chest, self-conscious even though he’s already seen me like this once before. But it’s daytime now, and everything feels more real. We’re not about to have sex, but this feels even more intimate.

I want to do it, though. I want to be this close to him. I’m not sure why, I’m not sure of its purpose, except for the fact that I’m keeping him safe from falling in the shower. Yeah, that’s it. That’s why I’m getting in here, naked with him.

“Oh, right,” I say. I bend at the waist, preparing to take them off, then my eyes dart back up to him. “You can go ahead and get in first.”

He takes my advice and pulls the curtain back, then disappears behind it. I take my underwear off and kick them in the corner next to his boxers, then take a deep breath. I count to ten and pull back the curtain to get under the water with him.

Inside the shower is warm and the lighting is dim, but I can’t lift my eyes from the floor.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yes, Mr. Concussed,” I say, steeling myself and finally looking at his face. His eyes are sparkling and happy, and that makes me happy. I don’t feel like covering myself anymore, it feels different behind this curtain. It feels like we’re in our own little world, which I really like. “Hand me the shampoo?”

“I can get your hair,” he says, reaching behind him for the bottle.

“I was gonna do you,” I say, taking the shampoo from him. “You go first. You’re the one with the injury, you come first.”

He smiles to himself and doesn’t argue with me. I squirt some into my palm and rub the both of them together, then motion for him to turn around. He does, and I start to work my fingers through his soft hair as he leans his head back, and I can feel that the front of my hips are gently touching his butt.

I wonder if he notices, too.

“Okay,” I say, after I’m done lathering him up. “Rinse.” 

He sticks his head under the water, turning back around so he can see my face. He gives me a small smile, and I make a bold move and lift my hands to lay them flat on his slick chest. As the water runs over his head, he takes my wrists and moves my palm to his mouth so he can kiss it, letting his lips linger there for a long time.

“Your head okay?” I ask.

He nods and takes the shampoo bottle from where I set it on a ledge and squirts some into his own hands, turning me around by the shoulders so he can work it into my hair. His hands feel amazing on my scalp, my eyes practically roll back into my head from the sensation. No one has ever washed my hair for me before, not like this at least. This isn’t just caring; this is sensual. This is the most intimate thing I have ever done. This is the closest I’ve ever felt to another person ever before in my life.

“That feels…” I practically moan. “So good.”

“So good?” he asks, his voice very close to my ear. “That good?”

I nod and lean my back against his chest, pressing my lips together as I melt into him. He finishes much too quickly, and as I’m rinsing all the soap out, he winds his arms around my waist from behind and kisses the side of my neck with his mouth open, tongue gliding over my skin. 

“So good…” I moan, eyelashes fluttering. “Really, really good.”

He moves his lips down to my shoulder, and I can feel his teeth graze me slightly. There’s insane heat pooling between my legs, and I want something done about it. I need him to make me come again.

“Jackson,” I whisper, raising my arm to hold the side of his head. “Can you… can you...?” I let out a shaky sigh. “I don’t really know how to ask this.”

“You want me to touch you?” he asks, fingers spread wide over my abdomen. I nod slightly, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth. “I want to,” he says. “But I don’t want you to freak out like last time.”

“No,” I say surely. “No, no. I’m not going to. I just wanna feel…” I pause. “That again.” 

“I can help you out,” he says, and one hand sneaks up to hold one breast while the other slips below my hips. “Loosen up, piano girl.”

His words kill me. They practically kill me. I widen my legs a little bit and feel his hand between them, so I lean further back against his chest. Before I have much time to register what’s happening, his fingers are inside me and my eyes shoot wide open.

“Oh, god,” I moan, and he presses his lips to my cheek. I have no idea what he’s doing, but it feels amazing. With one of his hands on my chest and the other with fingers inside me, I can’t control the sounds I’m making. 

He pushes them deeper, which makes a desperate whimper escape me. “Jackson,” I say, breathlessly. “Jackson.”

“April,” he says, a smile present in his voice.

I match it. I love the way his body feels wrapped tight around mine, around me and inside me. His fingers do something nearly magical and I see those same sparks I saw last time, and my legs quake and my breath comes in short bursts as I have the second orgasm of my life.

And it’s just as good as the first. While I’m still coming down from it, his fingers keep pumping and he presses slow, wet kisses to my neck, and I think if I feel one more thing, I’ll go overboard. This is all so much.

In the back of my mind, I hear my phone ringing, but I barely notice it. I’m too busy feeling all the ways that Jackson is worshiping me, and I don’t want to break out of this reverie anytime soon.

“No, this is her suitemate, Amelia,” a voice says, sounding cheerful. “She’s here, but she’s kinda busy. I think she’s… uh… she’s with her boyfriend right now.”

My eyebrows furrow together and I begrudgingly step away from Jackson to peek my head out of the shower, my hair a mess. “Who is it?” I ask.

Amelia pulls the phone away from her face to answer me. “Your mom,” she says. “Says call her back when you can.”

“My _mom_?!” I shriek. “You just told- oh, my god.” I replace the shower curtain and glance at Jackson, who looks way too amused. “She just said the word ‘boyfriend’ to my mom,” I say, through gritted teeth.

He swipes wet hair away from my face with both hands and whispers, “I just made you come like crazy,” he says. “Can we forget about your mom for a second?”

“I heard that,” Amelia says. “And I heard it happen, too, just so you know.”

“Please go _away_ ,” I insist, through the curtain.

“Fine, fine,” she says, her tone light and laughing. “Have fun!”

I hear Addie and Amelia’s side of the bathroom close, and I plunk my forehead down on Jackson’s chest. “This is bad,” I say, winding my arms around his waist. I can feel him… like, _him_ , pressing against my thigh, but I can’t think about that right now. “So bad.”

“What’s so bad about it?” he asks, trailing his fingertips up and down my dripping back.

I lift my face up. “When I call her back, she’s gonna have like, ten thousand questions. About you.” 

One side of his mouth pulls up in a grin. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it,” he says. “But until then, I need you to conditioner me.” 

I sigh and reach around him for the bottle, and feel him watching me. It doesn’t feel so weird, being naked around him anymore. In fact, I barely notice that I am. It just kind of feels natural. 

“I don’t know why Amy had to say that…” I say, rubbing my palms together. “Turn around.”

He does, and tips his head back so I can reach. I work my fingers through his curls and his shoulders relax as I massage his head, and I smile to myself. I like that I can do that to him. I like that he feels safe and free to be vulnerable around me. He’s so different now than when we first met, after just a little time of getting to know each other. When I think about it too hard, I can’t help but recognize how harshly I judged him upon first glance. But then I think, it was with due right. He had acted like an asshole.

But now, I know that’s just a wall he puts up. He’s the furthest thing from an asshole that anyone could ever be. He’s soft, caring, and really affectionate. He’d be a great boyfriend for any girl, that’s for sure. And for right now, I’m glad he’s still pretending to be mine. I really like spending time around him.

And he’s going to have to pretend for a little while longer, after what Amelia just let slip to my mom.

“Rinsy,” I say, pushing him gently under the water. He looks at me with it trickling over his face, his nose all scrunched up in the cutest way possible. “I’ll loofah you,” I say. “While you’re doing that.”

I suds up a loofah with green apple scented body wash, and skim it over his shoulders first. My eyes follow where my hand leads, and I can’t help but linger at the defined muscles of his chest to make sure they’re extra clean. His back is also something to marvel at; the line down the middle is doing crazy things to me.

Almost involuntarily, I lean forward and slowly press my lips between his shoulder blades. I wrap my arms around his waist and link my hands together over his belly, pulling myself as close as possible. Our bodies are flush together, and right now, I don’t want it any other way.

I let out a long breath as I rest with my cheek against his back. “You need conditioner, too,” he says, and I unlock my arms from around him.

We finish up in the shower, and I hold his hand as he steps out, just in case he gets dizzy again. I walk back into my room first and sit on the bed after changing into leggings and a cable-knit sweater, my hair slicked down on my shoulders after I brush it.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back into his sweatpants.

I lean back against the wall, crossing my arms on my lap as my lower lip pouts out.

“Aw,” he says, stepping close to the bed. “Do you need a hug?”

I flop down onto my side, my arms lax above my head. “Why did she have to say that?” I say. “This just makes everything so much harder.”

“I know,” he says, lifting one leg at a time onto the bed until he’s hovering over me. “But like you said earlier, kisses make everything better.”

He closes his eyes and covers my mouth with his, opening it and breathing into me. I drink him in, closing my eyes too, and wrap my arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“This can’t be good for your head,” I say, tucking my face into his neck so I can kiss it.

“Who cares,” he says, putting his full weight down on the front of my hips.

Interrupting us, my phone rings. It’s my mom’s ringtone, the one I’d recognize anywhere that I barely heard earlier. “No...” I say, pulling my lips from his neck and leaving a wet spot behind. I flop my head back onto the pillow and let out a long groan. “Not right now.”

The ringing stops, and he goes at me again - making a bold move and holding my right breast in his hand to squeeze it. I squeal into his mouth as electricity rockets between my legs, and he grins against my lips. “I know you like that,” he says, and I nod.

Then my phone starts ringing. Again. 

“Oh, my god…” I say, turning my head to the side so his lips skim along my cheek. I turn back and look at him, mouth all puffy, and sigh. “She’s not gonna stop,” I tell him.

He plunks his chin down between my breasts, at the beginning of my ribcage. He keeps his hand where it is on my chest, and I’m glad he does. I like it. “So you gotta answer?” he says, swiping his thumb over my nipple that’s hardening beneath my bra and sweater.

“I already know what she’s gonna say,” I whine. 

“What?”

I flit my eyes up to my Taylor Swift posters, then back to him. “I don’t wanna tell you, because it’s gonna freak you out,” I say.

He shakes his head, which makes my torso shake. 

“Yes, it will,” I insist.

“Try me,” he says. “Not much freaks me out. I mean, I look in the mirror every morning, don’t I?”

I roll my eyes. “Shut _up_.”

We both laugh and he traces my jaw as I turn my head to the side again. “Just tell me,” he says. I bite my lower lip, deep in thought. “Those lips are for me to bite,” he says, gently pulling it out from between my teeth. “Come on, out with it.” 

“She’s gonna be all excited about the fact that I have a boyfriend,” I say, finally. “I guarantee you, by now everyone knows. Mom’s told Dad, Libby, Kimmie, Alice, probably even Liam…” I cover my face with my hands and let out an exasperated sound. “The end of the quarter isn’t that far away. I know what she’s gonna do! She’s gonna invite you to have Thanksgiving with us.”

Silence.

“See,” I say. “She hasn’t even officially done it yet, and you’re already freaked out.”

“No, I’m not,” he says. “What do I care? Free food. And it’s home-cooked, I bet it’s amazing. I can’t remember the last time I had a Thanksgiving meal at home instead of at some fancy restaurant.”

I blink open one eye to look at him. He’s not kidding.

“Okay, well, I-I…” I stay, tripping over my words. “We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. I don’t even know if that’s what she’s gonna say.”

“You sounded pretty sure a few seconds ago,” he says.

“Let me just… let me just call her back,” I say, reaching for my phone that sits on my nightstand. “She might not say it, I don’t know.”

I dial my home number very slowly, and in true Karen Kepner fashion, my mom picks up before the first ring can even finish. She doesn’t waste any time with getting to the subject of Jackson, either. 

“So, what’s this about you having a boyfriend?” she asks. 

I glance down at the boy who’s still resting overtop of me. I furrow my eyebrows at his hand, still claiming my breast, and jolt my shoulders so he’ll get the hint to get off. I know he understands what I mean, but he keeps it there just to spite me. In fact, he gives me a squeeze for good measure.

I debate telling my mom the whole truth. That it was a big trick just to get another boy to notice me, but now it’s evolved into something… else. But how would I even begin to explain that big ‘else’ to her? She wouldn’t get it. _I_ don’t even get it, and I don’t think Jackson does, either. Have we turned into friends with benefits? Is that what we are now?

“Um, yeah,” I say. I center my eyes on Taylor Swift again. I can’t look at him while I’m on the phone with my mom. It feels wrong.

“Well, your father and I need to meet him!” Mom says, all excited. “Bring him home for Thanksgiving.”

“Mom, he might have plans-”

“I don’t,” Jackson cuts in.

I narrow my eyes. “He doesn’t,” Mom says, obviously having heard him. “So he should come have it with us. It’s only right. You’ll bring him, won’t you, honey?”

Jackson looks at me expectantly, and the silence waiting for me on the phone is just as questioning. “I…” I begin, then my voice breaks off. “Sure.”

“Excellent!” Mom says. “I’ll set an extra place. He can stay with us for as long as he wants. You have such good taste in people, sweetheart, so we can’t wait to meet him.”

“Mom, we-”

“I don’t wanna hear any excuses,” she says. “We’re all so excited for you! Your very first boyfriend. This is great, April. This is so great.”

“Yeah,” I say, not sounding quite as enthused.

“See you when you come home!” she says, voice growing higher. “We can’t wait to see the both of you.”

I hang up the phone and toss it to my desk. “Oh, my god,” I groan.

“What?”

“You heard it all,” I say. “She’s so insane. She thinks we’re getting married, or something. At least that’s what she made it sound like. Like, geez.”

He chuckles.

“No, I’m not even kidding,” I say. “She thinks we’re serious. Like… really serious. To her, you’re my first actual boyfriend. She’s freaking out. She’s basically already planning the wedding.” I raise my eyebrows helplessly. “This is so messed up.” 

“What’s messed up about it?” he asks, slipping the hem of my sweater up to touch my stomach. I don’t stop him.

“Everything!” I exclaim. “We’re not even dating, and here it’s not a big deal. We don’t have to put on much of a show. We just kinda…” I blush. “I don’t know what we’re even doing. What are we doing right now? We’re friends who touch each other.”

“Good friends,” he says. 

“Well,” I say, looking off to the side. “I don’t know what’s going on. And I wasn’t even worried about it… until now.” I shake my head. “I can’t let my family see through me. When we go there… we have to be dating. Like, hardcore dating. More than we did for stupid Alex. This has to be really believable for them.”

He’s so calm. None of this is bothering him, and I have no idea why. “That can be done,” he says.

“How are you so calm right now?” I ask, my neuroses coming out in my voice.

He shrugs. “Being with you is easy,” he says. “I’m sure it’ll be cool to be around your family.”

I massage my temples and blow air out of my puckered lips. “Cool is a word for it,” I grumble.

“What do you guys do for Thanksgiving, anyway?” he asks.

I give him a look. “What do the middle class do, you mean?”

He rolls off of me and instead, lies beside me. “Yeah,” he says, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Do you eat turkey on crystal platters, or is that just a rich person thing?”

“I hate you.” 

“Do you guys do those quaint little handprint turkeys?” he asks, egging me on.

“Enough out of you.”

“We do them,” he says. “But instead of paint, we use gold leaf.”

“Oh, do you now?” I say, flipping over onto my side. I shove his chest and get pulled back into thoughts about being at home with him, acting out our huge lie to my family’s faces. “Jackson, this has to be really real,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

I sigh. “They have to believe us,” I say. “If they catch me lying, I’m dead.” 

“They’re not gonna catch you lying,” he says. “Or us lying.”

“They have to really think you like me,” I say.

“I do really like you,” he replies. 

I squint at him. “You know what I mean.”

He lays an arm over my side and pulls me close. “I know what you mean,” he says, the tip of his nose pressed to mine.

I’m feeling too many emotions to center on just one. My heart is flopping around in my chest like a fish on land, and my thoughts are speeding around my brain at top speed. I’m so confused. My heart and my mind are telling me a thousand different things, and I don’t know where to begin.

“Like this,” I say, pressing my palm flat to his chest. “What’s this? No one’s around, no one’s watching, we’re not pretending for anyone. Why are we all close like this?”

He blinks at me a few times, seemingly caught off guard. “Do you not like it?” he asks.

“No, n-no,” I say. “That’s not it.”

“Then what’s wrong?” he asks.

I run my tongue over my lips and can’t help but let my eyes wander to his mouth. “I like being with you,” I say. “Like this. I’m just not sure what it means.”

“I’m not sure, either,” he admits, his hand slipping beneath the back of my shirt. He draws a line down my spine and traces the waistband of my pants before settling his hand on my butt.  

“Does it have to be something?” I ask. I don’t know what the rules are about these kinds of things, about relationships. I’ve never been in one before, and I know he doesn’t want whatever we’re doing to turn into one. We made that rule in the beginning. I’m not about to be the one to go back on it.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” he says, eyes now darting to my mouth.

“I…” I begin, then cut myself off. I don’t know what I want to say.

“You…” he mimics.

I let a short breath out of my nose. “I don’t know,” I say, then wrap one of my legs over both of his. “Just kiss me.”

He moves his hand away from my butt to hold my face, then presses his lips gently to mine. Our kisses are slow and extremely intimate as we explore each other’s mouths and bodies without rushing, and I love it. My hummingbird heartbeat is throbbing inside my chest as he swipes his thumb beneath my eye, over my cheekbone, and he makes a small, affirmative sound as I bite down on his lower lip.

“I really…” I say breathlessly, as we part. He blinks, waiting for me to continue. “Really like kissing you.”

He chuckles and kisses my chin, taking small sections of my skin between his teeth as he goes lower. “I like kissing you, too,” he says. “A lot.”

“As much as other girls you’ve been with?” I ask. I’m shocked as soon as the words come out; I’m not sure where they came from, but they weren’t voluntary. I want, more than anything, to be able to take them back. But they’re out in the open now.

Luckily, he barely reacts. He just moves his head below my jaw and runs his tongue over the swell of my throat, which makes me gasp. “More,” he murmurs.

We make out for a long time, until the heat between my legs is absolutely throbbing with desire. I don’t know how to ask him to get me off again without sounding greedy, though, so I have to go do something else to get my mind off of this.

“I have to go practice,” I say, as his hands are buried deep into my hair. I scramble off the bed and find my footing once I’m standing, and give him a flighty smile.

“Right now?” he asks, wiping his mouth.

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “My piano recital is a couple days before break. I have to get my pieces down perfect before then.”

“Okay,” he says. 

“You should take a nap,” I say. “And when I come back, you can sit with me while I work on one of your papers.”

“You don’t have to keep doing those, you know,” he says.

“I want to,” I say, putting on my shoes. “Anyway, if I stop now, Professor Torres will notice the change. We both know that I beat your ass in music theory.”

He snorts. “Okay, cocky shit.”

I throw on my fall jacket. “I’ll be back,” I say.

“I have one request,” he says, just as I’m almost out the door. 

“What?” I say, looking over my shoulder with one foot already in the hallway.  

“Sing to me when you get back?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.

I roll my eyes but can’t help my smile as I walk out the door without answering him. I lock it behind me and head off to the School of Music, and I find myself really liking the fact that he’ll be there waiting for me when I get back.  

I go into my normal practice room and pull out a piece at random. I get to work on Jeux d’eaux by Ravel, which is one of my favorites. When Jackson sits next to me on the bench and watches me play this one, he always marvels over how differently my left and right hand can move from each other.

It makes me feel good when he says stuff like that. It makes me feel special that he notices.

When the note get really soft and quiet, I smile while I remember what Jackson always does. He raises his eyebrows, hunches his shoulders up to his ears, and makes his fingers tiptoe gently across the music stand in front of my sheet. And when it gets loud again, he sways his head back and forth in time, and I do my best to concentrate. 

He doesn’t make that very easy, though.

His favorite part of the whole song is about halfway through, when I slide my left hand down the keyboard to hit a myriad of notes in succession. He always does a little ‘whoo!’ after it’s over, like it was so exciting for him. I roll my eyes now as I think of it, but at the same time wish he was here to do it. The practice room is quiet and a little boring without him next to me.

As I play, I get lost in my thoughts. I had tried to broach the subject of my confusion earlier, but I don’t feel like it’s any clearer now than it was then. He’s obviously just as lost as I am, and we’re both going along to get along. He doesn’t have feelings for me, though, I can see that much. We kiss behind closed doors because it feels good. Not because love each other or even like each other like that, it’s nothing that complicated. We do it because it makes our bodies feel good.

I can say that much for myself, but I guess I’m only assuming for him. We made a rule that we wouldn’t fall in love with each other, and I won’t break it. I know he won’t, either. That’s just silly.  

I stay in the practice room, thinking and playing, for a long time. It’s almost dinnertime by the time I finish, so I pack up my things to go. And as I walk back to Clifton, I think of a way I can surprise Jackson. 

When I get up to the fourth floor, I’m already smiling as I unlock the door. I clear my throat and start singing before I even get fully inside, knowing that he’ll love it.

" _You've been on my mind_ ,” I say, singing the first Adele song that popped into my head. “ _I grow fonder every day, lose myself in time...just thinking of your face_ -”

I stop singing, noticing the silence in the room. My twinkle lights are on and there’s a big lump under my blue comforter, and when I walk up to it I see that Jackson is sound asleep, still taking the nap I was talking about earlier.  

“Oh,” I whisper to myself. “You’re asleep.”

He doesn’t even stir. I watch the slow rise and fall of his chest as he’s in a world far away from me, and feel something weird bloom up and twist in my stomach as I look at him.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” I say, and lean over to kiss his forehead as he sleeps.


	8. Chapter 8

**JACKSON**

“So what are you gonna do with this major of yours?”

April is at her desk, hunched over her laptop, humming. I’ve just woken up from a long nap, and the first thing I heard was her voice, which led me to think about her major - vocal music. She spends so much time at the piano, but I barely ever hear her talk about singing. Which seems weird.

“Oh,” she says. “You’re up.”

I glance at the clock and see that it’s almost 8pm. I slept for way longer than I intended, but I think I needed it. I feel really well-rested and clear-headed.

“Yep, I’ve risen from the dead,” I say. “When did you get back?”

“Couple hours ago,” she says, turning back to her work. “Just been doing homework, and waiting for you.”

“Probably got pretty lonely without me,” I say slyly.

“The silence was actually nice,” she quips.

“Uh-huh,” I say. “Sure. Anyway, you didn’t answer me. What are you gonna do after our four years in this joint hell?”

She scoffs. “It’s not hell,” she says. “But I want to be a professional voice teacher.”

“A teacher,” I say, nodding. “I can definitely see that.”

“I’m gonna go to grad school after this,” she says, turning halfway around in her chair to rest her arm along the back of it. “Juilliard or maybe the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music. That one’s closer to my hometown, I might like it.”

“Not very close to me,” I say.

She rolls her eyes lightly. “Why, Mr. Pre-med? Where are you gonna go after we’re done here?”

“I’ll go to med school somewhere,” I say, rolling onto my back to look at the ceiling. “I don’t know where yet. Northwestern? Or maybe somewhere up east, like Harvard or something.”

“Harvard,” she says. “Wow.”

“What,” I say. “You don’t think I can get in?”

“No, no!” she says. “I didn’t said that. Just like, the concept of Harvard is so… whoa, to me.”

“It’s close to Juilliard,” I say, darting my eyes over to her.

“Yeah,” she says, looking down at her hand. “I don’t even know if I’ll go there. I probably wouldn’t even be able to get in.”

“Whatever,” I say. “Your rendition of ‘Baby I’m Yours’ was turnt the other day. You could use that as your audition piece.”

She starts laughing - that laugh I love, with her head thrown back and mouth wide open. I feel something warm and crazy in my chest watching her. “Turnt?” she says, shaking her head. “You’re too much.”

“No, for real though!” I say. “Don’t get down on yourself. You’re really good.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s four years from now, anyway. Who even knows what my life will look like by then?”

There’s a quiet moment where her eyes trail down her own arms and mine wander her placid face. I pull my lips into my mouth and run my tongue over them; I don’t feel like any words are adequate for what’s going on inside my head. I’m feeling a lot of things, but I don’t understand a single emotion.

I love watching her, no matter what she’s doing. And right now, even as she’s deep in thought, her eyes on her own freckles, I think she’s a work of art.

I wasn’t supposed to catch feelings for her. I was the one who made up that stupid rule, and I’d even been joking at the time. But whatever’s happening inside my head and heart right now is definitely not a joke. And I’m no match for it.

“What’d you practice today?” I ask.

She lifts her head up, torn from her thoughts. “Oh, I started with Jeaux d’eaux,” she says. “Kinda wished you were there.”

“Really?” I ask, and she nods. I like sitting next to her while she plays piano and watching her expressions change with her level of concentration. It’s like watching a novel get written right in front of me.

“Yeah,” she says. “I kept thinking of your dumb little dance moves.”

I laugh to myself. I know she likes them, but she pretends not to. That’s something she always does - puts up a front like she’s annoyed when she’s actually entertained. I can always see right through her, though.

“How’s your head?” she asks.

I touch my forehead, where the swollen spot is. “A little better,” I say.

“I don’t think you should go to class tomorrow, though,” she says. “At least one more full day of rest. Then we’ll see how you feel.”

“Are you gonna stay home with me?” I ask.

“No,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I have to go. I can’t miss.”

“But what if I fall?” I ask. “I could hurt myself even worse, then you’d feel terrible. You’d come home and find me in a heap on the floor, clicking my Life Alert button over and over again.”

“Jackson.”

“I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” I say, mimicking an old person’s voice.

“Jackson.”

“I’ve fallen!” I say again. “And I can’t get up! And this would’ve never happened had April stayed home with my poor, concussed self!”

“You really are the most dramatic person to ever exist,” she says.

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” I ask.

She sighs, resting her chin in her palm. “Presentations are coming up soon in music theory,” she says.

“So we’ll just work on it here,” I say. “What’s the difference of working on it in class or here?”

She gives me a look. “You know we won’t work on it.”

“Right, I’ll do all the work as usual and you’ll sit back and pick your nose-”

“Shush!” she says, getting up from her chair to come push on my side. She wants to be annoyed, but she’s smiling instead. She can’t fight it.

“Come up here,” I say, scooting towards the wall to make room for her.

She doesn’t argue. She just lifts one knee up at a time onto her raised bed and scoots in close, though she doesn’t need much room. “You made it all hot,” she says.

“Is it cold out?” I ask.

“Getting there,” she says, then lifts her gaze from my mouth my eyes. “I had to wear a jacket.”

“The reddish purple one,” I say, lifting a finger to tap the tip of her nose.

She scrunches it up and says, “Yeah.” She pulls one hand from under the covers and skims it down my cheek, and I can hear the sound that my stubble makes against her soft skin. “Did you miss me while I was gone?” she asks.

“You mean while I was sleeping?” I say. “Did I miss you while I was sleeping? Because if that’s what you’re asking, then of course I did.”

Her cheeks flush pink; I know that’s the answer she wanted.

“I was hoping you’d come back and wake me up with a kiss,” I say, testing the waters.

“I tried,” she says. “Well, I didn’t try to wake you up really. I wanted you to sleep, because it’s good for you. But I did kiss you.”

“And I didn’t wake up?”

“Well, it was just on the forehead,” she explains.

“Oh,” I say, and swipe a bit of her hair behind her ear. “That’s why, then. So chaste.”

“I can give you a better one now,” she says, eyes darting around self-consciously. “If you want.”

“If I want,” I say, disbelieving. “Psh. C’mere.”

I wrap my arms around her to rest on the small of her back and pull her close, and we both smile as I press my lips to hers.

***

As the end of the quarter draws closer and closer, the weather continues to get colder. I’m cleared by my doctor that my concussion has healed properly, but I still spend more time in April’s room than my own, and Mark never misses a chance to say something about it.

“Leaving me by myself yet again,” he says, as I go through my closet looking for my soccer stuff. I have a game tomorrow morning, and I’m sleeping over with April tonight. “It’s almost like I don’t have a roommate anymore.”

I roll my eyes with my back faced to him. “Shut up,” I say.

I hear the sound of him sitting down on his bed. “You guys fucked yet?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “And none of your fucking business, nosy shit.”

“Just making conversation,” he says.

We’ve done other stuff. Some nights, I can tell that she really wants me to touch her, so I do. I can’t tell what’s going on in that mind of hers, but I make her feel good as often as she wants. I’m not gonna be the pushy asshole that forces her to do what she’s not ready for. I want to wait until she brings up the topic of going all the way. God knows I’m ready. I’ve _been_ ready. But if she’s not, then it doesn’t really matter.

“Not yet,” I say. “We’ve fooled around though. A lot.”

“I bet,” Mark says. “I’ve seen Kepner undress you with her eyes way too many times. What’s her body like?”

I shake my head vehemently and bunch my uniform into a ball. It’s my last game, and after tomorrow morning I won’t be getting this out again until spring. “I’m not talking about her body with you,” I say.

“I’m fuckin’ joking!” he says, laughing. “Have fun, you animal.”

“Yeah, bye,” I say, and wave on my way out.

When I get to April’s room, she’s not there. I knew she wouldn’t be. She’s been in the School of Music since she got out of class earlier today, practicing. And I just got done with my classes, otherwise I would’ve been over there with her. I wanted to give her a chance to concentrate, anyway. Her piano recital, that she’s been preparing for the entire quarter, is tomorrow.

When she gets back, she seems downtrodden and tired. “Hey,” I say, looking up from my phone where I sit on her bed.

“Hey,” she says back, slinging her music bag over the back of her desk chair.

“You okay?” I ask.

She kicks off her shoes and joins me on the bed, sitting with her shoulders slumped forward. “I’m bummed,” she says.

“Bummed?” I say, trying to look into her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I just found out that I can’t come to your game tomorrow,” she says. “I got my performance time slot. It’s 11am, right in the middle of your game.” She huffs. “And it’s your last one. I tried to trade, but they wouldn’t let me.”

“Hey, don’t worry about my stupid game,” I say. “Now I’m more pissed that I can’t come see you play. I’m gonna… you know what, I’m gonna find a way around it.”

She shakes her head. “No, don’t do that. It doesn’t matter. You hear me play all the time, and the team will lose without you.”

“Yeah, they really suck,” I say, and she giggles. “But still. I wanna see you perform.”

“You can see me another time,” she says. “It doesn’t even matter to me, really.”

I sigh. I’m not settled with this, but I’ll figure out something on my own. The day after tomorrow is when we leave for Ohio. All of our finals are done, and we just have these two big things left to do, then we’re free. It’s a great feeling. I’ve almost survived my first quarter of freshman year.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, later that night as we lie in the dark. We’re both on our sides, face to face. She has one leg between both of mine, keeping herself warm as she always does. I have one arm around her back, my hand under her shirt to rest on her skin. “For tomorrow?”

“Not right now,” she says. “But when a ton of people are staring at me, watching me, I might be. I don’t know, I just don’t wanna mess up and look like an idiot.”

“You won’t mess up,” I say. “And if you do, just ad-lib.”

“Yeah, ad-lib a professional piece that everyone in the audience probably knows,” she says sarcastically, her voice all goofy. “Are _you_ nervous?”

“Nah,” I say. “Just a game.”

“What are you gonna do without me there cheering for you?” she asks.

“Probably die,” I say. “Or get another concussion.”

“Hey,” she says. “Don’t joke about that. I’ll be worried.”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” I say. “I’ll wear a helmet, if it makes you feel better.”

“Well, no, don’t do that,” she says. “Then you’d just look like a nerd.”

“You’re right,” I say. “Then none of the girls would look at me.”

“On second thought, wear the helmet,” she says, pulling herself closer to wrap an arm around my waist.

We’re quiet for a long time, and I can sense her falling asleep as her breathing changes. “Night, my piano girl,” I say, and kiss her softly between the eyebrows.

She mirrors the statement with a soft murmur, then tucks her head into my neck and falls sound asleep.

We’re both getting ready at the same time the next morning, and she’s standing in front of her closet leafing through her dresses when I get out of the shower. I come to realize that I’ve never seen her in a dress before, and I’m definitely sticking around to see which one she chooses.

As I pull on my shorts and sit on her bed shirtless, she pounds her fists against the sides of her hips. “None of these are gonna look good,” she says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

She turns to look at me, like she just realized I’m here. “Everyone else has these expensive dresses,” she says. “And they all look great in them. I never dress up, and I’m gonna look horrible.”

“Okay, no,” I say. “You’re on crack. You’re not gonna look horrible.”

Her lower lip trembles. Shit, she’s about to cry.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I say, walking towards her with my arms outstretched. “Just let me help you. What are your options?”

She shows me, and I take my time looking at each one. “How about this?” I ask, holding up a simple black one with long sleeves and a v-neck. “It was kinda buried in there.”

She sniffles. “That doesn’t look too much like a funeral dress?”

I shake my head. “Nah, it’s great. Try it on.”

As she slips into it, I put on my jersey, shin guards and socks, then look up to see that she’s studying herself in the mirror. My eyes widen; that dress hugs her body in all the right places and accentuates things that I, of course, know that she has, but I’ve never seen clothes look this way on a person before. She looks fucking amazing.

“You look great,” I say, standing up.

She glances at her reflection nervously. “You sure?” she says. “I’m gonna be in front of so many people.”

“I’m definitely sure,” I say. “Hey, is that nerd O’Malley gonna be there?”

George O’Malley is this guy in the School of Music with April, and he’s absolutely obsessed with her. From the very first story she told me about him, I knew he had the hots for her.

“Yeah,” she says, pushing on my chest. “But leave him alone. He’s harmless.”

I grumble under my breath. “Yeah, yeah, that’s what he wants you to think,” I say.

“Hush up, you jealous boy,” she says, then slips her feet into black, short heels. Her hair and makeup are already done, and she looks beyond fantastic.

“You look… stunning,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist after she grabs her purse and coat. “I just want to…”

She gives me a cute, warning look. “I don’t want to be late,” she says. “Good luck with your game, I’ll be thinking about you.”

My heart needs to stop flipping inside my chest right now.

“Of course, I’m gonna be thinking about you, too,” I say. “Go do your thing, piano girl.”

She gives me a smile, then disappears out the door. I leave shortly after, walking glumly to the field, where I really don’t want to be. I can’t stop myself from looking at the bleachers during the first half, even though I know April won’t be there. I remember her nervousness from this morning and feel like I’m completely in the wrong place. So during halftime, I tell my coach that I’m sick and going to throw up, and that I have to leave.

I don’t waste any time. It’s 10:55, and the School of Music isn’t exactly close. So once I’m out of my coach’s line of vision, I book it as fast as I can so I can get there in time. I pass the Student Center, McCabe dorm hall, and Cortelyou Commons, before I finally get to the front door - sweaty and out of breath. I walk through the glass revolving doors and the inside of the building is calm and quiet, and the sound that my cleats are making against the tile floor sticks out against the silence.

“Excuse me,” I say, still breathless, to the nearest official-looking person. “Where’s the piano recital thing happening at?”

She points me in the right direction, and I power-walk until I get to the double doors. I can hear music coming from inside, followed by applause, so I go in while the audience is clapping and duck down to find a seat. I need a place where she can see me, so I do the best I can. There aren’t many people here, so it’s not that hard, and I find a seat about three rows back from the big grand piano on the little raised stage.

After the clapping dies down, the sound of microphone feedback buzzes through the hall. “Our next performer is April Kepner,” the woman says. “She’s a freshman this year, majoring in vocal music. She’s been playing the piano since she was five years old, and her favorite composers are Mozart and Chopin. So please, welcome to the stage Miss April Kepner.”

Everyone participates in quiet, contained applause, but once I see her, I can’t help myself. As she walks out, dress fluttering and cheeks blushed pink, I let out a ‘whoo!’ that draws her attention right to me. She pauses for a moment, eyes wide and lips parted, and all I do is nod and smile.

“Go get ‘em,” I mouth, and she sits down on the bench with a closed-mouth smile on her face. She smooths down her dress, pulls out her sheet music, and lets out a long breath as she positions her hands on the keyboard. I know her routine all too well - she has to be completely comfortable before she can start.

When she does, her beautiful music that I know so well fills the room and I sit back and enjoy it. I know her pieces and their order - Meine Freuden, Nocturne, Arabesque, Metamorphosis, and Jeax d’eaux. I’ve heard them so many times, that I might be able to play them myself if I tried. Okay, probably not.

I don’t take my eyes off of her for one second while she plays. What began as nervousness turns into comfort, which turns into serenity as she disappears from this world into one all her own. I love watching her do that. She’s doing exactly what she loves and what she’s good at. I feel an overwhelming sense of pride as she moves from one song to the next. Proud that I know her. Proud that she’s kind of mine.

When she’s done, I give her a standing ovation that makes her turn red. My clap stands out as the loudest and goes on longer than everyone else’s, but I don’t care that people are looking. When I sit back down, the older man next to me gives me a look, and I point towards the stage.

“That’s my best friend,” I say. “Isn’t she amazing?”

When the whole recital is done, I hurry out into the lobby and find her through the small crowd of people. She’s by herself, just walking out from backstage, so I storm her and lift her into my arms to spin her around. She starts laughing right away, all high-pitched and giddy, and wraps her arms tight around my neck.

“You came!” she squeals. Once I put her down, she looks at me all breathless with her palms flat on my chest. “How… how are you here? How did you…? Did your game end early?”

“I left,” I say, shrugging.

“You left?!” she exclaims. “What? How?”

“Walked off the field,” I say. “I had something better to do.”

“Jackson,” she says, holding onto my wrist. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I say. “But I wanted to. And I like seeing you this happy.”

“Well, I am happy,” she says, bouncing up and down where she stands. “Very, very happy. I really can’t believe you came.”

“You sounded great,” I say. “Better than ever. And you didn’t even mix up those notes in Nocturne.”

“I know!” she says, eyebrows shooting up. “I know!”

“Probably because I’m the best piano teacher around,” I say, closing my eyes with a pompous expression. All she does is laugh. “No, legit. I’m really proud of you, piano girl.”

She beams. She literally fucking beams. “You’re proud of me?” she asks.

“Of course I am,” I say, and give her a quick kiss. “You’re a piano prodigy. Everyone knows that now, not just me.”

We go back to my room after we eat lunch, and she sits on my bed while I pack things that I’ll need for our trip to Ohio. Of course, she’s already all packed, and I waited until the last minute.

Mark walks in as I’ve barely started, and April waves happily at him. She’s in a great mood after this morning, and it’s contagious.

“Hey there, couple of the year,” Mark says, throwing his coat onto the floor. “Packin’ up for a romantic getaway to the Buckeye state?”

“Shut up, dude,” I say, and April giggles.

“He waited ‘til the last minute, of course,” she says, and pushes on me with her socked foot. I grab it and tickle the bottom, which makes her squirm away from me with a loud shriek.

“Keep it in your pants while you’re in here, at least,” Mark says.

“Don’t get too jealous, Mark,” April says, teasing him. “It isn’t becoming.”

“Don’t mock me, Kep,” Mark says, squinting at her. She laughs.

I spend a long time packing, figuring out what clothes I’ll need to wear for what kinds of occasions. “Jackson,” April says. “I live on a farm. A _farm_. We’re not gonna be going to any fancy parties or restaurants or anything like that.”

She apparently saw the black dress pants that I haphazardly folded and put in.

“I know,” I say. “But I don’t wanna look like shit for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Still,” she says. “You won’t need to be dressed to the nines.”

I ignore her and keep the pants. I want to make a good impression on her family, even if what we’re doing isn’t exactly real. It still feels pretty real, at least to me. It honestly feels like I’m going to meet my girlfriend’s family for the first time, and that’s a big deal.

April hides her nervousness well until we’re back in her room, getting ready for bed. She insisted that it only made sense for me to sleep there tonight, since we’ll be leaving together early tomorrow morning. I, of course, didn’t put up much of a fight.

I come back in from brushing my teeth to find her rifling through her suitcase at top speed. “Whoa, flying projectile,” I say, dodging a shirt that soars through the air towards my head. “What are you doing?”

She stops digging and looks over her shoulder. “Making sure I had my lotion in there,” she says.

I sit down on the bed and eye her, knowing that there’s more to the story. “You kinda freaking out about tomorrow?” I ask. Her parents are coming to pick us up in the morning, around 9. We’re going to be in a car with them for about four hours, which will be a lot to handle.

“No,” she says, too quickly, then gives in. “Yeah.”

“Me, too,” I say.

She takes a few steps closer to me, her socks making no noise on the carpet. She’s already in her pajamas - tonight, white fuzzy pants with a pink short-sleeved top. No bra.

“I just want them to like you,” she says. “And believe us.”

She walks even closer, standing between my parted knees. She sets her hands on my shoulders and runs her fingers down my biceps as her eyes follow, which makes my stomach twist.

“They will,” I say. “Believe us, at least. I don’t know about liking me. I hope, though.”

“You’re easy to like,” she says.

“Tell that to yourself a few months ago,” I say. “You hated my ass.”

She rolls her eyes and smirks. “Okay, yeah,” she says. “But not now.”

“No…” I say, and she climbs onto my lap so her face is level with mine. “Not now.”

She wraps her arms around my neck and pushes her torso against me as her hips undulate on top of my own. I skim my hands down her back to grab low on her ass, taking two handfuls of it and squeezing as hard as I can, until she whimpers into my mouth. She loves being grabbed; I’ve only just recently found that out. She never told me - I don’t think she even knew herself - but through trial and error I’ve found out certain things that really turn her on.

Neck kissing. Neck kissing and biting is a big one, so I always go there first. It absolutely melts her. When I open my mouth against her raging pulse, her muscles relax and she rests her weight down on my thighs, which causes my hands to get trapped under her. But I’m not complaining.

I run my tongue down the column of her neck to concentrate between her collarbones, where I suck the skin between my teeth and bite gently down on it. I move my hands up from her ass to push the material of her shirt up so my hands can anchor on her ribcage, holding her firmly in place as I move my lips to the V in her shirt.

She raises her arms over her head without saying anything. She doesn’t need to, I know what that means. I pull the soft shirt off over her head and she shakes her hair out of the way, back behind her shoulders, then bends to kiss the top of my shoulder.

I love the way her lips feel on me. I drag my fingernails down her spine as she kisses my bare skin - I never wear a shirt to bed - and I dig them into the small of her back when she sinks her teeth into the slope between my neck and shoulder.

“Mm,” I moan, yanking her hips closer to me. I can feel myself almost completely hard in my pants; it doesn’t take much when she gets in a mood like this. She does crazy things to me.

“Jackson,” she breathes, my fingers just inside the waistband of her pajama pants. “I wanna go all the way.”

Her words knock me back. I open my eyes and look into hers, which are hooded with desire. She’s taken a tiny portion of her lower lip between her teeth, and is gently chewing on it as we search each other’s faces. “You do?” I ask.

She nods, reaching between our bodies to graze her hand over my now fully-hard dick. Fuck. Goddamn it. “I want it to be real,” she says. My mind is swimming. What does she mean? “After you sleep with someone,” she continues, and my eyes dart down to her very bare breasts. I want them in my mouth so bad, but I need to concentrate on the words she’s saying. They’re making it nearly impossible, though. “I’ve heard you have this… bond, I don’t know. Like a link. And I want it, with you. I want that link. My parents are gonna believe that we’re really together, and… I want you to be my first anyway, Jackson.” She rests her forehead against mine, and I slip my hands into the back of her pajama pants to rest over her ass. “I really trust you. And… I want you to be that for me. And I wanna be… something for you.”

“You’re something for me already,” I say, squeezing her.

She moans softly, her hips twitching forward. “I-I am?” she asks.

I nod. Her plump, swollen lips are too much for me to handle right now, just staring at them as they’re parted and wet with saliva. She doesn’t even know how fucking perfect she is. “Yeah,” I say.

It hits me. I have feelings for her. _I have feelings for her_ , and a fuck ton of them at that. Sleeping with her is only going to make this confusion more difficult to see through, but I can’t pass it up. I won’t. We’ve grown since the after-sex crying, and now we both want this. I’m not about to ruin it with questions. We can talk about feelings later. But right now, we need to fuck.

“You have condoms, right?” she asks.

I do. But of course, they’re in my room. I’m gonna have to do the boner walk of shame, which is going to get me endless shit from Mark. But, looking at April in this heavy state of arousal - her hair mussed, her pupils dilated and her skin flushed - I know whatever he says to me will be worth it.

“Be right back,” I say, and hurry down the hallway awkwardly, trying to hide my boner but at the same time, not kill it. I know it won’t be hard to get back once I touch her again, but still. I don’t like to put one to waste. I push open the door to our room and dig around under my bed without even acknowledging Mark, hoping that his headphones-in state will keep him from bothering me. But of course, I was way too hopeful in thinking that.

“Hey, Boner town,” he says. “Gonna go get your dick wet?”

“You’re so disgusting,” I say, finally coming across the box I was looking for.

“That’s good! Practicing safe sex!” he calls, and I flip him off as I hurry back out of the door.

“Got ‘em,” I say, closing April’s door behind me. When I look up, I see that she’s lying on the bed with her knees bent, pants now off. And god, she looks amazing. Earlier as she was changing into pajamas, I saw that she had pink and flowery underwear on. But now, she’s wearing a black pair with lace fringe around the waist and leg openings. “I love those,” I say. “They’re sexy.”

She smiles softly, running her fingers over the lace along her hips.

I set a handful of condoms on the nightstand, having not brought the whole box like last time. I shuck off my pants and am left in only my boxers as I climb back up on the bed, and she props herself up on her elbows. “Where were we?” she says, eyes lighting up.

“I think I remember,” I say, and curl my back forward as I straddle her hips so I can take one of her breasts in my mouth. As I pull the skin around her nipple between my teeth, I palm the other one roughly and cover it with my whole hand, and she arches her back to get closer to me.

I smile against the swell of her breast and move to lick a path down to her bellybutton, then to the waistband of her panties. I pluck at the fabric with my teeth and feel her hand cover the back of my head, pushing me down subtly as I go. I’ve eaten her out a few times now since the first time. She knows how good I am at it, and she loves what I can do to her. She’s not self-conscious about it anymore, and I love that. I love hearing what she wants and how I make her feel.

She lifts her ass up so I can take her underwear off, then shimmies her hips to get out of them. I run my nails from the tops of her thighs all the way up to her ribcage, and can see the goosebumps that follow. She’s completely naked now, and I take notice of the secret freckles that only I’ve ever seen. The ones that make a perfect three-dotted line under her bellybutton, the one the inside of her thigh, right at the divot of her pelvic bone, the four of them sporadically placed under her right breast. I love each and every one of them, and she knows it.

When I connect my mouth with her core, her back jolts up from the bed. I hear her take a big breath in and when I look up, I see that she’s holding one of her breasts in her hand, squeezing it just as tightly as I was. Just seeing that makes me get even harder, if possible. I keep going at her, switching up my movements between quick and slow, using teeth and not, and pushing my tongue inside of her. I go for a long time, as long as she can take, before she’s whimpering and moaning and practically begging for release. So, finally, I give it to her. I kiss her stomach as she comes, keening and writhing underneath me with her eyelashes fluttering like mad, then push myself up to kiss her on the mouth.

“God, that was…” she pants, chest heaving and shiny with sweat. “Wow… wow.”

I kiss her some more, sloppy and lazy, and she does her best to kiss me back in the spent state I’ve put her in. But after a few minutes, she starts to get her energy back, and intensely grabs the back of my neck to open her mouth against mine.

“I want you,” she breathes. I can still feel the heat from her center radiating onto my skin where I rest, and it’s driving me wild. “I really want you.”

“I want you, too,” I say, and she runs her hands down the sides of my face.

She nods firmly, licking her lips as she stares at my mouth. “Come on,” she says. “I’m ready.”

I lean to the side, grab a condom, and take my boxers off. I can feel her eyes between my legs, and can’t help but feel a boosted sense of pride from it. I’m not sure what to say in regards to her staring, so I try and think of something funny. “See something you like?” I say. Goddamnit. Should’ve kept my mouth shut. That was so stupid.

She meets my eyes, blinking slow and lustful. “Yeah,” she says, resting one arm on the pillow above her head.

Jesus Christ. I put the condom on and meet her eyes, and see that she’s been watching me. She’s already wet from when I ate her out, so I’m hoping that this will be okay. I don’t want to see her in pain, and I definitely don’t want her to bleed, but I know that girls’ first times can be bad. I’ve never been with a virgin, though.

“I’m gonna…” I begin, then make eye contact. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” she says, widening her legs. As I push slowly inside her, it’s hard to lift my eyes from the place where we’re conjoining, but I make myself do it. Her eyes are concentrated on the ceiling and her mouth is pinched a little bit; it doesn’t look like she’s enjoying herself all that much.

“You still good?” I ask. I stay still. She feels fucking amazing - all tight and warm. But I don’t want to rush her.

“Yeah,” she says. “Just… I’m getting used to you.”

I smile and tuck my face into her neck so I can kiss her. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, then moves her hands to my ass so she can push me down further.

“Go ahead,” she says. “More.”

I bury myself all the way inside of her, and I’m overloaded with feeling. Her fingernails are digging into my sides, grappling for something to hold, and her breath is coming in short, erratic bursts.

“It’s starting to feel good,” she says, lifting and situating her hips as best she can. “You can move now.”

So I do. I pull halfway out and thrust slowly back in, watching her breasts bounce as I go. I kiss the flat plain in the middle of them, keeping my lips there as I thrust again. I hear small sounds coming from her, little moans and staccato whimpers, as I keep moving my hips. The sounds are turning pleasurable, which lets me know that I’m doing something right. I’m making her feel good, and I feel amazing.

I dip my head for a kiss, then pull up to look at her. Her lashes are fluttering as her green eyes wander my face, and a small smile appears on her lips. “What,” I say, snapping my hips forward.

She drags her fingertip across the apple of my left cheek, over the bridge of my nose, and onto my right cheek. “You have… little freckles,” she says. “I never noticed them before.”

I chuckle a little bit and kiss her again. There’s nothing I can say that will put into words how I’m feeling.

I come first. I can’t help it. I feel my muscles tightening in my groin and can’t control the erratic movement of my hips as the most powerful orgasm of my life ripples through me, and I plunk my head down on her collarbone. As I’m still coming down, she trails her fingertips gently over the back of my skull and neck, and kisses the side of my head.

I pull out, tie the condom off, and waste no time in eating her out again. When she comes for a second time, she moans my name so loud that I’m relieved her suitemates are already gone for the holiday.

We’re both sweaty after it’s over, but I don’t care. I pull her into my arms and she wraps all of her limbs around me, nuzzling her face against my chest. “Jackson,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, babe,” I respond, widening my eyes at the term of endearment that just slipped out. She doesn’t say anything about it, thought.

“I…” She looks up at my face, and I kiss her forehead. “I’m glad it was you,” she says, and I feel her palm flatten over my back. “For my first time. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be with anyone else.”

I laugh and roll my eyes lightly. “Whatever, I’m not that great,” I say.

She smacks my shoulder, lifting that flat hand. “Yeah, uh-huh,” she says. “Shut up.” I shake my head at her. “You _are_.”

“I _am_ what?” I ask.

She blinks, her eyelashes crazy long and curled naturally. “That great,” she says.


	9. Chapter 9

**APRIL**

I’m not a virgin anymore, it’s official. 

When I moved away to college, I figured this would happen. At least, I wanted it to. But I expected that the aftermath would feel more momentous and life-changing. Right now, lying here next to a very sleepy boy who’s grown to be my best friend, I still feel like the same old April. 

I think I like that better, better than if I would’ve felt changed. I still recognize myself. I still have my same hands, my same freckles, my same thought process and worries. But none of them are at the forefront of my mind, not right now at least. The one thing I’m thinking about right now is sleep, and how truly grateful I am that Jackson was the one I chose to give my virginity to.

I know virginity is a made-up concept. My parents don’t believe that, of course - they believe in what the church does, that it’s supposed to be saved for a woman’s husband - but I’ve known that that school of thought is outdated since early high school. A woman’s worth isn’t altered by who she does or doesn’t sleep with. It seemed really old-world and archaic, but for the sake of my parents, I stayed a virgin while I was under their roof. And because no boys even looked my way. That helped a lot, too. 

I wonder if my mom will be able to see it on me, that I’m not a virgin anymore. My stomach twists with worry about that, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. It’s not like I can take it back. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. 

I lift my eyes to look at Jackson, who’s lying on his back with one arm around me. His eyelids are heavy, and when he senses me watching him, he looks down and smiles. 

“What,” he says.

“You’re tired,” I say, walking my fingers up his chest. “I wore you out.” 

He chuckles, letting his eyes close briefly. “Yeah, you did.” He takes in a deep breath and continues with, “I know you know that you weren’t my… my first, or anything. But I still wanted to tell you that, um, I mean… this meant something to me, too.” 

Something warm and infectious blooms in my chest and spreads out to my entire body. I don’t really know what to say in response, so I just duck my chin to my chest and bashfully grin because of it. I tighten my arm around him and pull myself closer, if possible, and press a couple kisses to his warm chest. 

He strokes my hair and runs the ends through his fingers absentmindedly, while I drag my fingernails over his chest as light as a feather. He gets goosebumps because of it, and his nipples even get hard, which I feel proud that I’ve done. 

I make quick, mischievous eye contact and bend my neck so I can reach them. When I do, I close my mouth around one of them and run my tongue around the hardened point of it, and suck it between my teeth.

“April…” he says, his voice a warning. “We have to go to sleep.” 

I smile against him, my lips still touching. “I know,” I say. 

“If you keep doing that, neither of us will be sleeping,” he says, then pulls me back up to face level by my armpits. “Quit being a tease.” 

I giggle and hold one side of his face in my hand. “But I like to,” I say. 

“I know,” he says, then kisses me. “You have plenty of time to be one, just not now. We’re both sleepy.” 

“Hmm, fine,” I say, nestling against him. I place my ear right over his heartbeat, and the rhythmic beat of it lulls me straight to sleep, even quicker than him. 

In the morning, I wake up before our alarm with Jackson’s arm still heavy around my shoulders. His body is radiating heat, which is making me sweaty, but I don’t want to move away yet.

He’s still deeply asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly, and his face is serene and calm. The covers are low on his hips, which means that his entire chest and torso are exposed, and that also means that just beneath this thin sheet… is something else that I want to see again. 

I don’t know what ignites the curiosity and temptation within me, but there’s no ignoring it. I sit up a little bit and glance at his face to see that he’s still asleep, though my guess is that he won’t be for very much longer. I take in a deep breath and trail my hand down his stomach and slip it beneath the sheet, then I feel him. 

I’m not sure what to do with it, but I want to do something. He’s always going down on me, giving me oral sex - it was how he introduced me to feelings I’d never known before. But not once have I given him head, and I feel like it’s a favor I should return. He deserves it, and I want to do it. I’m just not exactly sure how, or what he’ll think. 

Well, I’m pretty sure that he’ll be pleasantly surprised. How could he not? We have a consensual relationship, and what guy wouldn’t like to be woken up like this? 

But suddenly, I feel shaky. I really don’t have any idea what I’m doing or how to start. It would actually help if he were awake to guide me, but that would pretty much defeat the purpose of what I’m trying to do here. I don’t think I can do it; just as easily as it came, I lose my gumption and chicken out. I still want to do something, though, so I keep my hand where it is and wrap my fingers around his half-hard penis. 

I hear his breathing change, but he doesn’t wake up fully yet. I smirk and look towards his face, then keep my hand where it is as I situate myself to rest against his body, my face buried in his neck so I can start kissing him. 

He made me feel incredible last night. I hope that I did the same for him, but I want to make sure that he feels good today, too. And all the time. 

“Wake up…” I whisper, kissing the corner of his jaw. He’s almost fully hard in my hand now, which I feel a weird sense of accomplishment over. “Wake up, J…” 

“Hmm,” he makes a low sound in his throat, and I smile because I can feel it through my lips. “What are you up to?” he slurs. 

“I wanna make you feel good,” I say, moving my mouth to his chest and trailing kisses down to his ribcage. “I wanted to surprise you, but… I didn’t know how.” 

He finally opens his eyes and when he looks at me, they’re sparkling. “C’mere,” he says, and I let out a high-pitched giggle when he pulls me on top of him to straddle his hips. I’m still mostly naked save for my underwear, and suddenly his hands are everywhere on me. 

I flatten my body out so I’m resting between his legs, feeling his insistent hard-on between us, and I frame his face while I smother it in kisses. “I wanted to…” I begin, feeling his fingers weave through my messy hair. “Wake you up.” 

“You got your wish,” he says, hands on my butt. 

“With my mouth on you,” I say, a little bit cautiously. He blinks, unable to keep the sly smirk off of his lips. 

“For real?” he says, disbelieving. 

“I wanted to,” I say. “I just didn’t know… how. But I wanted to make you feel good.” 

He squeezes my butt and pats it softly, and our faces gravitate towards each other for a kiss. We get into it, so the only sounds in the room are that of us breathing through our noses and the smack of our lips against each other, and I love it. My center is throbbing with want for him, and the only thing that stops me from asking if we can have sex again is the fact that my phone alarm goes off where it rests on the nightstand, blasting ‘Holy Ground’ by Taylor Swift. 

“Ugh…” I groan, pulling my face away from his so I can reach over and shut it off. I set my chin down on his chest, blinking up at him. “I don’t wanna go.” 

“You don’t?” he repeats. 

I shake my head. “I wanna stay here. Right here. With you.” 

He chuckles. “All break. Right here?” I nod. “Not that that doesn’t sound amazing,” he says. “But we should get ready. We don’t wanna make your parents wait.” 

As much as I hate his logic, I know he’s right. We get out of bed and get ready, knowing that my parents will be down in front to meet us in an hour or so. When I get out of the shower, I see him sitting on my bed still in his towel, smiling at seemingly nothing. 

“You look crazy,” I say, adjusting my own towel. “Smiling at the wall.” 

His attention snaps to me. “Shut up,” he says. 

“What are you so happy about?” I ask. 

He shrugs. “Not gonna tell you, because all you’ll do is call me crazy.” 

I roll my eyes and look over my shoulder at him as I stand in front of my closet. I need to get my bra and underwear on, but his eyes are searing into me. “Don’t watch me!” I say. 

He laughs. “As if I haven’t seen you naked before,” he says, but turns his head to the side anyway. Once I’m in my underthings, I walk over to him and put my hands on his shoulders, and he glances at what I’ve chosen - a dark purple bra and pink underwear with white stars on them. “Great job matching,” he says. 

“Shush,” I say, and his hands wander down to my hips.

“If you really wanna know, I was sitting here thinking about last night,” he says. 

My face heats up in a wild blush. “Seriously?” I ask. 

“Well, yeah,” he says. “It was pretty amazing.” 

I remove my hands from his shoulders and tuck my wet hair behind my ears a little compulsively. 

“Are you glad we did it?” he asks. 

“Of course I am,” I say. “I already told you… I… I really liked it.” 

“Good,” he says, and stands up. “Because I did, too.” He plants one hand on the side of my neck and kisses me - long and sweet. “We should get dressed. Or else bad things are gonna happen.” 

I giggle and turn around to my closet, finding a pair of yoga pants and a crew neck DePaul sweatshirt to put on. 

“You should wear mine,” I hear him say from behind me. 

I stop running the brush through my hair and look over my shoulder at him. “Hmm?” I say. 

“Wear my sweatshirt,” he says, holding his gray DePaul hoodie out as an offering. “It’s clean. And… I mean, we’re trying to show your parents we’re dating, right? Girls always wear their boyfriend’s shit.” 

I look up at his face, which has turned into something I don’t see often on him - unsureness. Like he thinks I’m going to say no, which I don’t plan on. 

“Good idea,” I say, and pull off my blue one to trade for his. When I put it on, I’m overwhelmed with how much it smells like him. It’s pretty big on me, the sleeves go way past my hands, but not comically so. It’s cozy. Perfect for a long car ride. “I like it,” I say, holding my arms close to my chest. “It’s like you’re hugging me.” 

He smiles at the floor, turning his head away like he doesn’t want me to see. I do the same, turning around to smile like an idiot with my bottom lip in my mouth. I have no idea why this makes me so happy, but it really does. 

When I get the text from my mom that they’re here, my stomach is alive with nerves. “They’re here,” I say, puffing out my cheeks to blow air out. “I’m gonna die.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Jackson says. 

“Okay,” I say. “Okay. We have our story, right? The one we told everyone else. And… we’ve been dating for two months. But we have  _ not _ ,” I make a big gesture with my arms. “Had sex. That’s something that they can _ not _ know. Okay?” 

“Breathe,” he says, rolling his eyes lightly. “I’m not an idiot. I’m not gonna walk up to the car and be like, hey Mr. and Mrs. Kepner! How are you? I’m great, you know why? ‘Cause last night I banged your daughter!” 

I screw up my face in a smirk that I try to keep at bay, but it doesn’t work. “Shut up,” I say, smacking his arm. “I just wanna make sure we’re on the same page.”

“We are,” he says, and I lock my door behind us as we leave with our suitcases in tow. “It’s gonna be good.” 

“Promise?” I ask, pausing as we wait for the elevator. 

He leans over and gives me a kiss on the forehead, one that I lean into. “Promise,” he says.

I see the silver van parked outside when we get off the elevator, and the shock of my mom’s red hair follows suit in my line of vision. “There she is,” I say. 

“I see where you got the hair from,” Jackson says, a smile in his voice. 

We push open the doors of Clifton and are met with a high-pitched shriek from my mom. “April!” she cheers, her arms up high in the air as she trots to me for a hug. She wraps me up tight in her arms to the point of suffocation, and I laugh with my head buried in the same perfume she’s worn for my whole life. “You look so grown up! What happened to my little baby duck?” she asks, holding my shoulders. “Oh, I’m so proud of you. It’s so good to see you. And…” She beams behind me, where Jackson is standing. “You, sir. You must be the famous Jackson.” 

She and I have talked on the phone a little bit, and she knows the bare minimum about him. Over the next week, I’m sure she’ll get to know so much more. 

“Yeah, I am,” he says, and I can’t help but smile when he starts talking. I don’t know why, but it just makes me so proud. “Nice to meet you.” He sticks out his hand, and Mom shakes it. 

“Well, you’re absolutely lovely,” she says to him, and I close my eyes in embarrassment. “Alice is going to  _ love _ you. Don’t you think, Duckie?” 

“Probably,” I mutter, then look at Jackson. “Alice is 12 and a little boy crazy right now.” 

“I can handle that,” Jackson says, then picks up both of our bags. 

“Oh, let’s get those in the car,” my mom says, popping the trunk. “Your dad’s waiting inside. Joe! The kids are here.” 

From our view in the trunk, Dad looks back from the driver’s seat. “Hey, Duckie!” he says enthusiastically. “I missed that face of yours.” 

“Hey, dad,” I say, and watch as Jackson hauls our bags inside. “This is Jackson. My boyfriend.” 

The driver’s side door opens and the car dings as Dad leaves it that way, coming around the back to meet Jackson face-to-face. “Jackson,” he says, and I can see Jackson straighten his shoulders to stand at his full height with good posture.  “I’m Joe Kepner. Nice to meet you, son.” 

Jackson shakes his hand, and a weird, warm feeling radiates throughout my body. But I like it. A lot. I like seeing Jackson next to my parents, it’s like two different parts of my life coming together. 

Once we’re out of the city and the stressful part of the drive is over, Mom turns around in her seat to face us. “So, I’m ready for the story,” she says. “How did you two meet? How did this all start?” 

Jackson and I trade glances. “I… do you wanna tell it?” I ask him. 

“I’d love to hear it from you, Jackson,” Mom says, her eyes practically gleaming. 

“Okay, well…” he begins, and his eyes flit over to me. “First of all, we were in the same tour group. Like, before classes even started. I saw her - actually, I saw that red hair - and noticed her right away. She had her face in a book the whole time like the true nerd she is-” 

I punch his shoulder for good measure.

“So she didn’t even notice me,” he continues. “But I noticed her. I thought she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.” 

My cheeks are burning, and I find myself unable to look at him even though I can feel his eyes on me. 

“But fast forward to when school started. Actually, the night before. We were at a floor meeting, we actually live on the same floor. I don’t know if you knew that. So I saw her there, and we’re going around saying interesting facts about ourselves. This one says, literally the only interesting fact that she could think of, was that she has  _ goats _ . Goats.”

“Oh god, don’t,” I groan, covering my face and shaking my head at myself. 

“So, of course, that stuck out in my mind. I was like, this is the girl I saw on my tour. And now she’s out here talking about goats. But still, I didn’t go up to her. I really felt like she wouldn’t give me the time of day, anyway. She really didn’t like me at first, if you can believe it. We had music theory class together, and she thought I was dumber than a rock.” 

Mom looks at me amusedly. “April!” 

“She did,” Jackson says. “Meanwhile, she’s a master at the piano. I saw her playing it on one of the first days and I was like… blown away. Because not only is she beautiful and smart, she’s also a musical genius?! I couldn’t believe it. So, I gave her my number. I mustered up the courage and gave it to her, no matter how dumb I felt. She took it, but she didn’t even call me.” 

I decide to get into the story, to make it look more legit. “At  _ first _ ,” I say. 

“No, you never called me,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “I had to corner you on our floor. Lucky that we live on the same one, otherwise I never would have been able to get her in one place. And… I mean, what can I say? I won her over.” 

I roll my eyes. “He thinks he did.” 

“Well, you said yes,” he says. “When I asked you out. Didn’t you?”

Something pangs in my heart. The genuine way he’s telling this fake story and the excited look in his eyes makes me almost believe that it really happened. I can’t help but wonder how our relationship would have been different if this was the way it had really gone down. But almost as soon as I think that, I will it away. This is all a big ruse. Guys like him don’t go for girls like me. Only in movies and made-up things, like the story we’ve concocted. 

“Yeah,” I say, and he interlaces his fingers with mine. “But I still made you wait for my answer.” 

His eyes flash as he probably remembers that I said I’d make him wait. “For like, 24 hours,” he says. 

“Still,” I say. 

“Then, we went on our first date at Clarke’s Diner,” he says. “She ordered pancakes and I got this burger that was way too cold. But I didn’t even care, because I was with her. And no matter what, she makes everything okay. Better than okay. When I’m with her, I’m happy. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. She came to all my soccer games this quarter, took care of me when I got a concussion, we’ve gotten really close.” 

I smile softly. “He left his last soccer game to come see my piano recital,” I say, squeezing his hand. 

“I would never have missed it,” he says, and now instead of looking at my mom, he’s looking at me. 

“He really likes watching me play,” I say, looking at my mom. 

“I love it,” he says. “She’s so good. Who knew that much talent could be trapped in such a little body? I’m like, blown away, every time she plays. My favorite of her songs is definitely Nocturne. I jam out to that one.”

Mom laughs, and I smile. 

“And the way she sings? Whew,” Jackson says, and tightens his grip on my fingers. “My girl can do it all.” 

I bite my lower lip, the grin on my face is uncontrollable. He’s making all this sound so  _ real _ . “He even likes Taylor Swift, too,” I say. 

“Really?” Mom says. 

“Only real men like Taylor,” Dad pipes up. “Check in the little storage part of the seat back there.” Jackson looks in front of him and pulls out all five of Taylor’s CDs. “Yep,” my dad continues. “When you got four girls at home, you learn to like yourself some Taylor. I’m glad you already know how it goes.” 

Jackson laughs and puts the CDs back, and Mom looks at us with her hands folded under her chin. “I hope you know how happy this is making me,” she says. I’m pretty surprised to hear her say that. Growing up, she never really gave me the boyfriend talk, because I’ve never been the one who boys saw. “April’s never had a boyfriend before.” 

“Mom…” I groan. 

“Oh, honey, enough. Just let me say this. I can see how happy you make her, Jackson. And I’m really glad you’re here.” 

“Me, too,” he says, and pats my leg. “And she makes me happy too, you know.” 

“I know,” Mom says, and I think I’m about to die from embarrassment. 

After Mom turns back around in her seat and Dad puts the radio on, we’re beginning the longest stretch of the drive along the highway. Jackson keeps one hand on my leg, and I like it there. As I look out the window, I can feel my eyelids getting heavier as the car lulls me into an inevitable sleep, so I lean my head against the window, even as it jostles and bumps me around.

“Here,” I hear Jackson mutter, and he pulls me to lean the other way, so my head can rest on his shoulder. “There you go. Better?” 

I nod against him, already drifting off as he situates his arm over the backs of my shoulders. 

When we pull up in the driveway, everyone who isn’t in the van with us is waiting on the porch. Alice is standing with one arm around a white pillar, Kimmie is sitting on the front step, and Libby is on the swing with little Liam in her lap. 

“There they are,” Mom says. “Just waitin’ on ya.” 

“Oh, my gosh,” I say, and yank open the door to the van. “What are you guys doing!” 

“April!” they all chorus, and I hurry out of the van to meet them. Alice gets to me first and wraps her arms around me in a huge hug, and I lift her off the ground and swing her around. 

“Little A!” I say. “You grew! You’re so tall now!” 

Kimmie stands up. “Hey, sissy,” she says, and hugs me really tight. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you!” I say back, then turn to look at Libby and Liam. “Hey, bud!” I squeal, and rush over to my nephew and his mom. I pick him up off her lap and sway back and forth with him, kissing him all over his face. “My favorite little boy who I missed so much!” I say. “You got so big! You got so grown up!” I hold him on my hip and Libby stands, wrapping her arms around the both of us. 

“Hey, baby sis,” she says, and gives me a kiss on the head. “We’re so glad you’re home.” 

“Is this him?” Alice says, her voice sounding urgent. “Oh, my gosh. Kimmie, look. Duckie, is this him?!” 

I can’t help my smile as I look to Jackson, who’s helping my dad haul the suitcases to the front door. 

“Holy hell,” Libby says, under her breath out of earshot of our parents. “ _ That _ boy is staying in our house for a week? Seriously, April?” 

“That’s your boyfriend?” Kimmie asks. 

“Guys,” I say, trying to get them to stop. Once Jackson reaches the porch, he gives them all an out-of-breath smile. “This is Jackson. He’s my boyfriend, so don’t torture him or… be weird, or anything like that. Jackson, these are my sisters. This is Alice, she’s the youngest. Then Kimmie, and this is Libby and her son, Liam. She’s the oldest.” 

“You’re the one who gave her the scar,” Jackson says, pointing at Kimmie.

The Kepner blush shows itself across the apples of her cheeks. “I was only like, 6,” she says. 

He laughs. “I’m just messing with you.” 

“Who’s ready for lunch?” Mom says enthusiastically, coming up from behind us. “Jackson, I made a place for you at the table. I hope you’re hungry.” 

Once we’re all sitting down, everyone wants me to catch them up on school, so I do. I go over the classes I had this quarter and what ones I liked and didn’t like, and they make Jackson do the same. 

“Why is your sweatshirt so big?” Alice asks, picking up some of the fabric by my elbow.

“Oh, um, it’s Jackson’s,” I say, smiling as I pick up my fork to take another bike. 

“How freaking cute,” Libby says, and the look in her eyes is warm. 

“Hey, I saw Charles the other day,” Kimmie says. “At the game. I was there with Julia. He asked about you.” 

I suddenly feel bad, because I had all but forgotten about my friends Charles and Reed while I’ve been away from home for three months. A new life has completely taken over my old one, and I haven’t looked back. 

“Oh, yeah?” I say. “What’d he say?” 

“Just asked how you were doing,” Kimmie says, taking a sip of her water. “I told him good. He said you should call him when you get home for break.” 

“Okay,” I say.

“Who’s this?” Jackson asks. 

“Don’t be jealous,” Libby says, cutting in with a laugh. “Does he get jealous, April?” 

I giggle. “Sometimes.” 

“Oh, I’m not the jealous one between us,” Jackson says, eyes wide. He points his thumb at me and I swat him on the arm.

“Shush!” I say. 

All my sisters crack up. 

“Charles was one of my best friends before I moved away. We never dated or anything weird like that,” I say. “Plus, isn’t he dating Reed now?” 

“She’s actually pregnant,” Kimmie says. 

My eyes grow huge. “Wait. What?” I exclaim. 

“Yeah,” Libby says. “I think she’s like, almost five months now. But she said she didn’t find out ‘til after you left.” 

“How do you know?” I ask. 

“She called me,” she says, then tips her head towards Liam. “I know a thing or two about having babies.”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “What, from Charles? Is he the dad?” 

Everyone nods. I don’t know what to say, because that’s what seems to happen in this little town if you don’t leave. You get pregnant and you get stuck here. Not that I don’t love Liam, and not that I don’t want kids of my own someday, but I can daydream about that later. I don’t want that for myself right now, and Reed didn’t either. She was going go community college for nursing, and now things are going to get a lot harder for her. 

I don’t know if I’ll see either of them while I’m home. It might be too weird, and I don’t think I can stomach it. We’re completely different people now. We always have been, the three of us, sort of friends by convenience. And now since I moved away and am getting to know myself better, I don’t see myself hanging out with them anymore. 

After dinner later that night, my family gets me to play my recital music at the piano. Jackson sits in the red armchair in the living room, the one that’s usually mine, and Alice sits right at his feet. I feel pretty happy, playing for all of them, feeling all of their eyes on me. 

“That was really beautiful, April,” Mom says, standing up and kissing me on the head once I’m done. “I would’ve skipped my soccer game for that, too.” She makes pointed eye contact with Jackson, and he grins. 

Everyone filters out of the living room a few moments after. Everyone except Jackson, that is, who slides in to sit on the bench next to me. 

“You haven’t taught me something new in a while,” he says. “I’m a little tired of playing Mary Had a Little Lamb all the time.” 

“Oh, yeah?” I say. “When’s the last time you even played that?” 

“I play it every night,” he says. “After you go to sleep.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“So I think you should teach me something new,” he says. 

“You do, do you?” I ask. He nods. “Okay… well, let’s try Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” 

“I love Twinkle, Twinkle,” he says. 

I roll my eyes and giggle at him. “Give me your hand,” I say, and lay his fingers across the correct keys and show him the order and rhythm to play them. I overlap his hand with my own just like I did the first time, and he watches me work intently for a while. But after we go through the song twice, his eyes move up to my face. “You have to watch the keys,” I say gently, and all he does is smile.

As I’m getting ready for bed later, Alice comes into the bathroom wearing a long, pink nightgown that used to be mine. Her hair is in two braids that rest on her shoulders, and she looks so young. “I heard you teaching Jackson that song earlier,” she says. 

“Oh, yeah,” I say, looking in the mirror as I run a brush through my hair. “He likes to learn.” 

She smiles. “I was watching you guys,” she says. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?” 

I glance over at her, my brush hovering in midair. “What do you mean?” I ask.

She smirks. “His eyes get all shiny. And his face, it really lights up. It’s like how Mom and Dad look at each other when they think we’re not looking.” She shrugs, her shoulders up by her ears. “I think he loves you, Duckie.”

“ _ Alice _ ,” I say, widening my eyes.

“I think he does,” she says, whispering excitedly and stepping closer to me. “Do you love him?” 

I’m filled with conflict. My little sister’s eyes are alight with interest and puppy love, and I don’t want to send her world crashing down. I don’t know what I feel for Jackson, but it’s nothing simple. Of course I have… feelings for him. But I don’t know if I’m able to put them to words.

But for her, I’ll try. If only to make her happy.

“Maybe,” I say. “It hasn’t been long enough. But… I think so. I think I could.” 

She squeals, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “This is so perfect!” she says. “You’re like his princess, April. You guys really look just like a fairytale.” 

“Ali…” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re so sappy.”

“I don’t care,” she says, and grabs her toothbrush just as Jackson walks into the doorway. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. “Hey, Alice.” She gives him a tiny wave. “Uh… your mom just set me up in the guest bedroom.” 

I furrow my eyebrows. “She did?” He nods. “Hold on.” 

He follows me to the guest bedroom, which Mom is just coming out of. “Oh, there you are,” she says to me. “I got Jackson all set up in here.” 

“I… why?” I ask. 

She looks at me confusedly. “You didn’t think he was going to sleep in your room, did you?” she asks. 

I guess I shouldn’t have thought anything different. It was cool of my mom to be so welcoming of him, but thinking he could sleep with me was definitely expecting too much. “Uh, no,” I say. “I guess not.” 

Mom nods and makes pointed eye contact with Jackson. “Jackson,” she says. “This might seem a little personal, and I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. You do know that April was raised religious, and she believes in waiting for sex until marriage, don’t you?” 

If he trips up over that in his mind, he doesn’t outwardly show it. “I know,” he says. I haven’t gone into that much detail about my family’s religion with him. I obviously don’t adhere to much of the constructs anymore, but my mom and dad still think that I do. 

“And you’re okay with that?” she continues. “You respect that?”

“Mom…” I groan. 

“Honey, it’s important,” she says. 

“He does,” I say, widening my eyes. I need to get away from this conversation right now. I might vomit because of nerves. I feel like now, she’s going to look at me and see how deeply I’ve been lying. “And he’s tired. He wants to go to bed. He doesn’t want you to lecture him.”

“I’m not lecturing,” she says. “Jackson, I’m not lecturing you. I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“We are, Mrs. Kepner,” he says.

“Call me Karen,” she says. “And good. Good night, Jackson.” 

I wave her goodbye, and walk Jackson into his room. “I-I’m sorry,” I say, scrunching up my face. “I didn’t know she was gonna do that. I feel like we’re 12.”

He laughs. “It’s okay. I get it, you guys are religious.”

I give him a look. “Well, I… I used to be a lot more,” I say. “I don’t know how I am now. It’s not exactly easy to figure out.” 

“It’s okay,” he says. “C’mere. Goodnight kiss.” 

“You know,” I say, nudging his door most of the way closed with my hip. “If you wait like, an hour or so, everyone will be asleep. And you can come to my room.” 

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, planning a little sneaking around, are we?” 

“Mm-hmm,” I say. “I was hoping, at least. If you want. I mean, you don’t have to. If you’re tired-”

“I’m not tired at all,” he says. 

I smile. “I just feel like I barely got you to myself today,” I say. 

“I know,” he says, tracing the skin along the small of my back. “What’s it like having to share me with your sisters?” 

“Horrible,” I say. 

“Duckie?” I hear. “Duckie?” It’s Kimmie.

“One second,” I say, pulling away from Jackson. “Coming.” I look over my shoulder at him as I leave the room. “One hour,” I say quietly, and he gives me a nod. 

I find Kimmie in the hallway and kill a spider that she couldn’t kill herself, then retire to my own room. I get into my pajamas, which are a pair of soft pink shorts and a long-sleeved white top, and braid my hair to one side. I flop down sideways on my bed, my head hanging over, and hum whatever comes to mind, which isn’t really much of anything. 

The whole house feels silent and asleep. I don’t know why I told him an hour; I don’t know if I can wait that long. But I have to. I really hope he doesn’t fall asleep. If he does, I definitely don’t have anything against going in there and waking him up. 

I get up from my bed and go over to sit on the window seat that overlooks the backyard. I can see the barn from here, which is a view I’ve always liked. When I was really little, I used to sit here and sing. And when I got a little older, I’d sit here and read all afternoon. I have a lot of good memories in this little cushioned seat. I find myself still able to relax here, so I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes for a while, only disturbed when I hear my doorknob move.

I lift my head up and see Jackson sneaking in, which makes me smile. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” he asks.

“No,” I say, standing up and walking over to lock my door behind him. “I was just resting my eyes.” 

He looks around the dimly-lit room, nodding as he takes in the posters on my wall. “I didn’t know you were  _ this _ big of a Taylor fan,” he says. 

“Kind of,” I say. 

He sits down on my bed. “The multiple posters in here along with your two at school say you’re more than ‘kind of’ a fan,” he says.

“I like her, so what,” I say, flopping down with my head near all my pillows at the top. 

“And what are all these pillows for?” he asks, tossing a few decorative ones off. “You snuggle with all these at night?”

“No,” I say, smacking him with one of them. 

“Ow, that one was hard,” he says. 

“They’re for show,” I say. “They make my bed look nice.” 

“For who?” he says, crawling over me to plant his hands on either side of my head. “Who were you trying to impress with this fancy-ass bed? Have something you wanna tell me?” 

I giggle, my chin pressed to my chest. “No,” I say. “You know you’re the only boy who’s ever been in my bed.” 

He kisses the round of my cheek as I smile, and says, “I do know that.” 

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and run my fingers down his back. “Why do you like that so much?” I ask. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just do.” 

“You’re funny,” I say, and he lowers his body weight down on top of me, then kisses my lips. I welcome him hungrily, having not kissed him for the better part of the day, and hug him close as I do so. “I missed you today.” 

“Even though we barely spent a minute apart,” he says. 

“Yeah,” I say, holding the sides of his neck. “But I couldn’t kiss you.” 

He plants a big one on my mouth, which makes me laugh. “What would your parents do?” he asked. “If we just started making out in front of them?” 

“Oh, god,” I say. “Probably freak out. I don’t even wanna know. That’s why…” I place a finger over his lips. “We’re being quiet. And secret.” 

He chuckles, pulling away only to look down at my mouth. “I wanna kiss you for like, ten hours,” he says.

“So do it,” I say with a smile. 

He kisses me again again, opening his mouth and slipping his tongue inside. As our lips are pressed together, I skim my hands beneath his shirt and trail my nails up his sides, which gives him goosebumps that I can feel. I pull his shirt up as I go and eventually slip it off over his head and throw it to the side so I can have full access to his bare top half, which is what I’d been going for. 

“I feel exposed,” he says. “Only way to fix that is for you to take yours off, too.” 

“Fine,” I say. “Get off me, then I can.” I pat his shoulder, and he rolls to the side so I can sit up and pull my shirt off. And because I’m in pajamas, I have no bra on underneath. 

“That’s better,” he says, and kisses a path from my throat all the way down between my breasts. With a grin, he holds one of them in his hands and covers the nipple with his tongue, which makes my hips writhe underneath his weight. 

“Mm,” I moan softly, and he grips me tighter. His other hand wanders my torso until it gets to the waist of my shorts, which he traces with one finger. “Jackson, can we…?” 

He picks his head up, but keeps his hands where they are. “What?” he says. 

“I wanna have sex,” I say. 

He looks shocked. “You do?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” I say, now finding it hard to meet his eyes, so I stare at his toned chest. “Why do you sound so surprised?” 

“I-I thought…” he begins. “You only wanted to because we wanted to convince them that we’re legit. So we’d have that bond. I didn’t think you’d want to do it again.” 

I lift my eyes to his and trail my fingers down his cheek. “Well, I do,” I say. “It felt good, and I wanna be with you again. Like that.” 

He studies me for a while, then one side of his mouth pulls up in a grin. “Okay,” he says, and goes for my lips again. After kissing me for a while, he pulls up and says, “Shit. I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

“Oh,” I say, eyes darting everywhere in search of a solution. “I-um… you could… pull out?” 

“I could pull out,” he repeats. “Good idea.” 

“I’m full of them,” I say, pushing my hands beneath the waist of his pajama pants. Once his pants are off, I can feel his hard-on pressing against me, and I pull my lower lip between my teeth as it nudges my thigh. “Take my pants off,” I breathe. 

He doesn’t waste time. In one fell swoop, he gets me out of both my shorts and my underwear, and I can feel the tip of his penis just touching my entrance, waiting for the go-ahead. I reach around to hold his hips and nudge them forward, and he knows what I mean without me having to say it. 

“I’ll go slow,” he says. “But it should feel better for you this time.” 

He pushes inside me and my inner muscles widen to accommodate his impressive size, and I bow one of my knees out to help with that, too. Once he’s completely in, he wraps his arms around my lower back and showers my torso and chest in wet, open-mouthed kisses. 

“You feel so good,” he says. “God, you feel so good.” 

I let out a few shaky breaths as I lie there with my back arched, mouth open. When he pumps his hips for the first time, sparks light up behind my eyelids and a desperate little whimper comes out of me involuntarily. “Jackson,” I breathe. “Oh, my god.” 

He finds a rhythm that’s slow but steady, and I hear my breathing become ragged as his hands explore my body. When he changes up the angle a little bit, scooping his hips as he thrusts, something lights up in my center. “Yes!” I exclaim, smacking a flat hand on his chest. 

“Shh…” he says, stealing the sound from my mouth by pressing his lips against mine. “Your family.” 

I can feel my forehead crinkle with concentration. “It’s right there… you were right there…” I say. 

“Here?” he says, and hits the same spot again. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” I moan, and he kisses me again as he keeps hitting that same spot. I wasn’t sure if he could make me feel the same way as he did with his mouth on me, but it feels a lot like that. I think I’m about to have an orgasm, and I know I’m right when I feel my hips and pelvis start to jerk and twitch beyond my control. “I’m coming,” I say. “Jackson, I’m coming. I’m coming.” 

He smiles and my eyelids flutter closed, half-lidded while it happens. I’m still experiencing the aftermath of mine when his starts, and he pulls out before anything can get inside me. Instead, hot liquid spurts onto my stomach, and I open my eyes so I can look at it. I’ve never seen it before, so I was curious, and there’s a lot of it. 

“I’ll get that,” he says, chest heaving. “Just… give me a minute.” He hangs his head and breathes deeply, so I reach to my nightstand while trying to keep my stomach level, coming back with a handful of tissues in my hand. “I’ll do it,” he says, as I’ve started to wipe it up. “You don’t have to.” 

Once it’s all cleaned up, I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. “I like condoms better,” I say.

“I know,” he says. “I knew you wouldn’t like the mess, I-” 

“No,” I say. “That’s not it. I like feeling you come inside me.” 

He stares at me for a long moment, then smiles and kisses me - long and slow. He moves down from my lips to my chest, then to my bellybutton, then between my open legs that are spread just wide enough to welcome his body. He gives me another orgasm with his mouth, and as I come he has to clap a hand over my mouth so I won’t cry out. I can’t help it - the way he makes my body feel is incomparable. I feel like an entirely different person when he’s with me. I feel like the presence I take up here in life is valid and worthy; he makes me see myself for what I really am. No one’s ever done that for me before. 

When he comes back up to rest his head next to mine on the pillow, I drag my fingertips down the outside of his arm and swing one leg over his. “I don’t want you to go,” I say. “I want you to sleep here next to me.” 

“I know,” he says, nuzzling his nose against the tip of mine. “I won’t be used to being in a bed by myself. I’ve been sleeping next to my piano girl for so long.” 

I smile softly. 

“What if I set an alarm,” he says. “So I’ll get up and go to the guest room at like, 4:30. Since your dad probably wakes up super early for all the farm shit. Does that work?” 

I nod and say, “That works.” I flip over to my other side and he presses himself close so he can spoon me from behind, circling an arm around my waist to hold me tight. As I’m closing my eyes, he presses his lips to the back of my head and shoulders, and I don’t think it’s possible for me to feel any better than I do right now. 

Even though my eyes are closed, he falls asleep first. I drag my fingernails up and down his arm to soothe him, and he twitches against my back as his breath puffs softly against my hair. As he slips further and further away, I lift his hand and hug his arm closer, keeping it that way for the night. 

As I lie there, loving the feeling of his body wrapped around me, a terrifying realization hits me. I have feelings for him.  _ I have real feelings for him _ . 


	10. Chapter 10

**JACKSON**

When the alarm goes off at 4:30, I’m more confused than anything. I reach over to shut it off and stare at the screen with wide, blinking eyes, and realize that I have to get back to the guest bedroom before Mr. Kepner gets up. 

I kiss the back of April’s head as she sleeps soundly beside me. I have one arm over her ribcage and the other under her neck, and she’s holding loosely onto both of my hands. “I gotta go,” I say. 

She doesn’t stir, so I decide to just try and slip out without waking her. I lift my left arm easily, but sliding the right one out from under her head proves to be a bit more difficult. As I pull on it, she shifts and murmurs softly, then holds onto my wrist so I can’t move. 

I laugh. “I have to go…” I say again. 

“Don’t want you to,” she says. “I’m cozy.” 

“I know,” I say, finally getting my arm out and kissing her temple. “But your dad.” 

“Who cares,” she says, flipping over onto her back. She’s still completely naked, and her breasts flatten out on her chest as she changes her position to look at me. 

I know it’s her sleepy state talking, but I really don’t want to leave, either. She looks so perfect, lying there wearing absolutely nothing, asking me to stay. I can’t say no to her, at least not for a few more minutes. 

“A little bit longer,” I say. “But I don’t wanna get caught.” 

She smiles, her eyes blinking slowly as she pulls my face down to hers so she can kiss me. Her lips move lazily against mine as she’s still half-asleep, and I love the warmth from her body radiating onto me. “You’re such a good kisser,” she says, moving her lips from my mouth down to my chin and jaw. 

“So are you,” I say. “You must have had a great teacher.” 

“Yeah,” she says, gliding her tongue over my adam’s apple. I’m starting to get hard, which I knew was inevitable. “Matthew, behind the blue slide in fifth grade was really great.” 

“I hate you,” I say, and she giggles lightly. 

I shift my body so my face is level with her chest, and press sporadic kisses around her breasts. I can feel her watching me, and I like it. She always wants to know exactly what I’m doing. 

I take one of her nipples in my mouth, laving my tongue over the smooth skin and the bumps around the point in the middle, and feel her hips lift up to meet mine. I graze my teeth along the hardened bud, and she lets out a ragged breath in response to it. 

“Jackson,” she says, pushing me down by my shoulders. I know what she wants, but I love hearing her say it. Hearing her ask for it. It’s one of my biggest turn-ons. 

“What?” I ask.

She squirms, her pent-up desire showing. “Please,” she says, making eye contact with me for emphasis. 

“What?” I say again. “I don’t know what you’re…” 

She makes a frustrated face. “Can you go down on me? I know you know what I want, just… geez,” she says, smirking. “I said it. Can you do it?”

“Gladly,” I say, and slip beneath the covers so she can’t see me, where I settle between her thighs. She bends her knees and presses them against me when I kiss low on her belly, and lets out a desperate little sound when I connect my mouth to her core. 

“Mm,” she moans, her voice low as I push my tongue inside of her. “You are so… you are so good,” she says, arching her back. I usually like making eye contact with her every now and then while I’m between her legs, but it’s kind of exciting being where she can’t see me. She has no idea what I’ll do next, and that’s a little thrilling. 

So without warning, I delve two fingers inside of her under my chin, and she makes a surprised, pleasured sound. “You like that?” I ask, pumping them rhythmically. 

I feel her inner muscles tighten, and I grow completely hard. Her body is a goddamn miracle. 

“Yeah,” she whines, breathing hard. “Oh god, yeah.” 

I press slow kisses against her, dragging my teeth across her outer lips and finally sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves into my mouth.

“Oh god, Jackson!” she moans, way too loud. I know she can’t help how loud she gets, but my hands and mouth are too busy to go up there and keep her quiet. We’re playing a very dangerous game. “That feels so good, so good, oh my god. Keep going, keep going, keep going,  _ please _ .” 

I’m not about to disobey her. I continue what I’m doing until she’s a mess of involuntary sounds and erratic jerks because of what I’ve done, and I smile with pride that I’m the only one who knows how to make her feel this way. 

“That was… so good,” she breathes, and just as I’m about to come up from beneath the sheet, there’s a soft knock on the door. “What,” April mutters urgently, mostly to herself. “Who…” 

Fuck. Shit. Is that her dad? Who else would it be? We’re caught. We’re definitely caught and I’m going to have to go back to Chicago or Boston for this stupid holiday and I won’t be able to see her for a while. This is going to be so bad. We’re going to get reamed out while we’re both naked. It’s going to be the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. 

But I don’t hear her dad’s voice. It’s a female one. I stay beneath the covers, where I’m probably the safest. 

“Dad wanted me to come get you for chores,” I hear, and April says something in return while clenching my body tight between her legs, telling me without words to stay where I am. I didn’t plan on moving, anyway. “And… you should know that you need to learn to keep it down.” 

“I…” April begins, and I hear the clack of something hitting her nightstand.

“I’m not gonna tell. I know how it goes. I just need you guys to be safe about...things.” 

“Okay,” April whispers. “I’ll be out for chores in a minute.” 

When the door shuts, she pulls me up from under the sheet. “Who was that?” I hiss. 

“Libby,” she says, and reaches over to the nightstand, coming back with a box of condoms in her hand. “She knows that we don’t need another Kepner sister popping out a baby. So…” 

I laugh, take the box, and smother her with kisses. 

“I have to go do chores,” she says, letting out a long breath. “But I can’t think about anything other than… other than…” 

“That orgasm I just gave you,” I say, kissing her and pulling her bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, her head falling back so her neck is exposed. I can’t resist, I run my finger down the length of it and she laughs, which makes it move. “Come out and do chores with me. You can see those goats you love to talk about.” 

“Alright,” I say. “I’ve never been up this early before in my life, you should know.” 

“Get used to it,” she says. “City boy.”

Alice is already outside when we get there, feeding the barn cats and replacing their water. She’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, but she has a smile on her face. “Hi, Kitten. Hi, Baby. Hi, Marcus. Hi, Lulu,” she says, scattering food around in each dish. “Good morning, Mama Kitty. Morning, Climber. Morning, Tipper. Morning, Millennium. And one last good morning to you, Bitty.” 

“That’s a lot of cats,” I say, watching them all congregate.

“I know,” April says, pulling on galoshes that go up to her knees. “They keep the rats and stuff away. They’re all Alice’s babies. She’s been the cat whisperer since she was little.” 

Alice grins at us from where she’s crouched down next to all the cats, petting them as they come to her. I’m not an animal person, but it’s pretty cute. 

“What’s your chore?” I ask. 

“I told you. Goats,” she says. “I’m gonna clean out their stall and feed them, wanna help?” 

“I…”

She picks up a sizable shovel from the corner of the room. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m not gonna make you touch poop or anything. I don’t know, just entertain them while I clean up. They really like to bother me. That’s something you guys have in common.” 

Alice laughs. I grumble. 

“Fine, fine, right behind you,” I say, and we make our way to the goat pen. 

“There are seventeen of them altogether,” April says, pointing. “Roberto, Shrek, Fiona, Lovey, DJ, Ginger, Fernando, Dot, Dash, Otis, Bojangles, The Professor, Roma, London, Paris, Clover, and Bob.”

“Seventeen,” I say, watching them all trot in hearing April’s voice. “Jesus. How do you remember all their names?” 

She swings a leg at a time over their fence, and I watch them go up to her and nibble on her clothes, then get in her way of walking. She laughs as she trips over them, and tries to hold them back as she makes her way to their food trough. “They all have their own personalities!” she says.

“I like Shrek and Fiona,” I say. “And I like how all of them have these thought-out names, then there’s Bob.” 

“My dad went through a minimalist phase,” she says, then cracks up. She picks up a little one and nuzzles it close to her face. “This is my favorite. Her name is Lovey.” 

“Hi, Lovey,” I say, a little awkwardly. 

“Who’s hungry for breakfast?” she choruses, then dumps a bunch of food in their trough. “Okay, you guys enjoy. I’m gonna get to cleaning. And you can play with Jackson once you’re done!” 

I lean against the fence and watch April work, scooping out a bunch of nasty stuff and putting it to the side, where I’m not sure what will happen to it after. 

“So today’s Thanksgiving,” she says. “I guarantee Mom’s already in the kitchen, working like crazy.” 

“Who’s all gonna be here?” I ask. 

“Well, all of us of course,” she says, taking a break and leaning on her shovel. “And my aunts and uncles will come - Aunt Diane, Aunt Amy, Aunt Cathy, Aunt Mary, Aunt Carrie. Aunt Diane is married to Uncle Mitch, Aunt Amy is married to Uncle Bart, and Aunt Cathy never got married, but she’s my favorite cousin’s mom. Melissa. She’s my age. And my other cousin, Sarah, is Aunt Diane and Uncle Mitch’s. And Aunt Amy and Uncle Bart have Ellie and Jack. My Aunt Mary, who divorced my Uncle Rob so I have no idea if he’ll be here, has Melany, Emma, Allison and Alaina. Aunt Carrie isn’t married either, and she just has Colin. My mom and dad have the most kids out of all of them. And my grandma and grandpa from both sides will come, Audrey and Bill and Sally and John. We’re not a huge fan of Grandpa John, my mom’s dad. But we kinda have to fake it.” 

I look at her with wide eyes, and she laughs and starts shoveling again. 

“I’ll introduce you to everyone later,” she says. “It’ll be less confusing.” 

“Do they all have red hair?” I ask. 

She rolls her eyes. “No, don’t be silly.” She’s quiet for a second, then a goat whose name I’m hopeless to remember wanders up to me. I scratch it between the ears, and it nibbles on my pajama pants. I try to inconspicuously nudge it away with my foot, but it’s relentless. I sigh and give in, letting it chew on what it wants. “What do  _ your _ family gatherings look like?” April asks.

I shrug. “Me and my mom,” I say. “In the past few years, her new husband and his daughter, Maggie. That one girl you got so jealous over.”

“Stop…” she groans. 

I laugh. “But yeah, it’s pretty small and low-key. I don’t have a big family. And we don’t like holidays that much.” 

“Well,” she says, sighing. “You’re gonna see a whole new world today.” 

She’s right. When we get back inside and showered, all of the Kepner sisters are enlisted to work in the kitchen. April is sitting at the dining room table, crafting pie crusts with her fingers, when I get out of the shower and go to find her. 

“I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you,” she says, eyeing the kitchen. 

But Alice catches wind of me before I can duck out. “Jackson!” she calls, waving her arm. “Come help me!” 

April gives me a look, but I follow the youngest Kepner’s voice anyway and go into the kitchen. I don’t miss the way her eyes are sparkling as she looks at me, standing there stirring a bowl of what looks like will turn into Jell-O. “Did you like the goats?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” I say. “They were pretty cool. There were like, a ton of them.” 

“We love our goats,” Karen says pleasantly. “April and Lovey have been attached at the hip since Lovey was born. It’s so sweet.” 

“Yeah, she was telling me that,” I say, chuckling. “I’m glad I finally got to see that side of my goat girl.” 

“Yeah, you saw a side alright,” I hear, and look over my shoulder to see Libby come into the kitchen with Liam on her hip. “Morning, everyone.” 

“Oh, Libby, you’re up,” Karen says. “Find Nana’s banana bread recipe for me, will you? I need you to start on that.” 

“Sure,” Libby says, yawning. 

“Are you tired?” Karen asks, looking concerned. 

“Yeah,” Libby says, and her eyes flash over to me. I look away instantly. “Weird noises this morning kept waking me up.” 

My face heats up. Luckily, April comes back into the kitchen just in time. “Crusts are done!” she announces. “Libby, I know where Nana’s recipe is. In the hallway bureau drawer. Come with me, I’ll show you. Morning, Liam!” She pulls her sister out of the kitchen and they start muttering right away, but I stay where I am. 

“What was that all about?” Kimmie asks from where she’s perched, sitting on the corner of the counter.

“Oh, who knows with those two,” Karen says, and adjusts her apron. “Jackson, honey, would you mind checking the oven temperature for me? It’s heating up for the turkey, and I’m betting that it’s ready by now.” 

“Sure, Mrs. Kepner,” I say, and do as I’m told. 

I find that I like helping out in the kitchen. My mom and I never had big dinners at home, and if we did, they were catered. There’s something about all of us working together for a final product that we’ll all get to enjoy that I really like. It makes me feel like part of a family. There are little spats and arguments throughout the morning, but I don’t mind. I kind of like them, actually. The rise and fall of the kitchen noise is soothing and feels like home. My house never feels warm like this, and I’m glad that I’m here for this holiday. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“You look happy,” April says later, as we’re setting up the table. People should start arriving any minute now, and everyone is dressed and ready. She’s wearing a purplish-red long-sleeved dress with two oval openings at the collar, and it fits her perfectly. I have on my black dress pants that she insisted I wouldn’t need and a light blue button-up shirt. 

“I am,” I say. 

“You’re doing a good job, you know,” she says. “Keeping up the image and everything. They really believe us.” 

She walks closer to me and winds her arms around my waist from the side. “Well, Libby definitely believes us,” I say, tucking a piece of red hair behind her ear. “Since she walked in on me giving you some amazing he-” 

“Shhhh!” April says, green eyes wide. “Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t. The walls have ears here.” 

I chuckle and kiss her forehead, then the doorbell rings. 

“I’ll get it!” she calls out, then skips to the door. 

When more and more people start filling the house, I spend a lot of time smiling and introducing myself. I meet a bunch of aunts and cousins that I lose track of, and I grab the door when the last person expected finally arrives.

“Hi, I’m Mary,” she says, and there’s a gaggle of girls behind her. “These are my girls. You must be Jackson, April’s new boyfriend?” She giggles to herself. “There’s no one else you could possibly be.” 

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Come on in. Everyone’s in the dining room or kitchen, I think. You’re the last one to get here.” 

They all file in and deposit their shoes on the front mat, and I feel their eyes on me. It’s not a comfortable feeling at all, but I try to ignore it. I’m new to them. They’ve never met me before. Of course they’re going to stare. But even as they disperse, I still feel Mary’s stare, so I make it a mission to go see if anyone needs help in the kitchen. 

I’m also on the lookout for April. Her mom’s been working her all morning and afternoon, so it’s been hard to get her alone, but the work is winding down now. I’m starting to feel a little bit like a loner without her by my side, so finding her would be ideal. 

When I walk into the kitchen, I see her. She’s talking to Mary by the kitchen island, facing me. The look on her face is set in a straight frown; she doesn’t like whatever’s being said to her, but she’s trying to fake it. The smile that plasters itself on her lips right after tells me that. She nods and clasps her hands together, but lets the smile die as Mary continues to talk. April shakes her head, and I wish I could hear what they were saying. I’m dying to know what’s gotten her so upset. 

When Mary walks away, April braces one hand on the island and stares down at the floor intensely. I walk up to her, catching her attention at the last moment. “Hey…” I say. “What’s up?” 

Her eyes flit to me and they look sad. I don’t like seeing them that way. “Hey,” she says, her voice soft. 

“What was she just saying to you?” I ask. 

April shakes her head and chews on the inside of her cheek. “Doesn’t matter,” she says. 

But her face is red, and it’s not with embarrassment. Something is really bothering her. “Looks like it does,” I say. 

“I don’t… I just don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” she says. “I’ll handle it. It didn’t mean anything. It just… she just… she always says stupid stuff. Like underhanded digs and stuff. I don’t even care anymore, when it’s about me.” She shakes her head again. 

“Wait, did she say something about you?” I ask. 

She sighs. “No,” she says.

“About me?” 

Her silence tells me everything. 

“What did she say?” 

Defeated, she pulls me by the wrist to a quiet nook. “She looked me in the eyes with a smile on her face and said that she didn’t know I liked black guys.” April’s eyes glaze over with tears. “She asked me if I’ve seen that ‘Get Out’ movie, and that this whole gathering reminded her of that.” She clenches her fists at her sides and her blush grows. “I didn’t even know what to say. I want to say something! But I don’t know what to say!” She tosses her hair out of her face. “She can’t just say those things about you. I… I won’t let her. I’m gonna say something.”

My gut twists. “Leave it,” I say calmly. 

She looks up at me, her eyes even glassier. “What?” she snaps. “No. I can’t.” 

“I want you to,” I say. “She’s not worth it.” 

“I-” 

“April, no,” I say. “Let it go.” 

She wets her lips and looks at me defiantly, but doesn’t argue anymore. 

“Time for dinner, everyone!” Karen calls, just in the nick of time. 

We all sit down around the long table, and I’m between April and Alice. I grasp their hands for the prayer, ducking my head without closing my eyes, and April squeezes my fingers. 

When it’s over, everyone digs in. I’ve never seen so much homemade food in one place in my life, and I fill up my plate. “I hope everyone’s had a chance to meet Jackson,” Karen says, interrupting the sound of silverware against plates. There’s a murmur of assent, then side conversations start. 

About halfway through dinner, I feel Mary’s eyes on me once again. I told April to leave it, but that doesn’t mean that I have to. “So, Mary,” I say, my voice low-key enough so the table’s attention isn’t caught. “What do you do?” 

She looks at me pleasantly, her fork and knife in hand even though almost none of the food on her plate has been touched. “Nice of you to ask,” she says. “I’m a substitute teacher. And a yoga instructor.”

“Impressive,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Almost as impressive as my mother simultaneously single-handedly raising me and maintaining a medical dynasty.” 

She blinks hard. I’m not sure if she put it together that April told me what she said or not, but either way, she’s knocked down a peg. “That’s… amazing,” she says. “What’s your mother’s name?” 

“Catherine Avery,” I say. 

“As in… the Avery Foundation?” someone else asks at the table. It’s a man, I think Uncle Bart. 

“That’s us,” I say. I’m not trying to brag, but I feel a persistent need to prove myself to these people, though I know I shouldn’t feel that way. I liked it better when it was just April’s immediate family, not all of these extras. Now, I feel too put on the spot. 

April takes my wrist. “Jackson is gonna be a doctor. He’s studying pre-med at DePaul.” 

“Wow,” Aunt Cathy says. “That’s really cool, Jackson.”

“He’s going to be the head of his foundation someday,” April continues, looking up at me and beaming. “Isn’t that amazing?” 

I smile, saying, “Stop it, babe.” 

“You’re making him blush!” Kimmie says, giggling. 

“Duckie, leave him alone,” Alice says, and Libby agrees with her. We barely hear, though, we’re too busy staring into each other’s eyes and smiling like idiots. Suddenly, it feels like no one else is at the table, and we’re all alone. She leans over and gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek, and I lean into it. The people who are still watching us, which are basically only her sisters, titter over it, but I don’t care. All that matters is that I’m here with her, and she’s here with me. Nobody else counts. 

After dinner is over, I stay in the kitchen with April, her mom, and her sisters to help clean up, even though the rest of the men are in the living room watching the game. 

“Jackson, you really don’t have to stay in here with us if you don’t want to,” Karen says. “The rest of the guys are all watching football. Don’t let us trap you.” 

“No,” I say, drying a wet dish that April handed to me. “I like being in here.”

Karen gives April a positive look, and I pretend not to see. “I wish I heard more of that from your father,” she says. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.” With a smile, she pats me on the shoulder. 

“She loves to say that,” April says, giggling as she scrubs a plate. As Karen walks out of earshot, she continues with, “I’m glad you said what you did to Aunt Mary at dinner. You could’ve said more, you could’ve called her out, too, you know. For what she said.” 

I shake my head. “I wasn’t gonna cause a scene. I just wanted to let her know who I am, where I come from. She’s not gonna reduce me to… I don’t even know. She’s just not gonna reduce me to anything.” 

“No, she’s not,” April says, and checks behind us to make sure no one’s looking before standing up her tiptoes and puckering her lips. I give her a quick kiss, and she lowers back down with a grin. “Because you’re amazing.” 

“As long as you think so,” I say.

“I know so,” she says. 

“Ew, can you two get a room, please?” Libby says, walking in with more dirty plates. Her face is mischievous, and a blush instantly blooms on April’s face. “Or at least wait until later?” 

“Libby,  _ stop _ ,” April says between her teeth. Luckily, the kitchen is empty save for the three of us right now, but still. It’s dangerous. 

“Oh, shush, Duckie. I’m not gonna say anything,” Libby tells us. “I told you that earlier, so stop freaking. I just like to get under your skin.” 

“Well, it’s working,” April says. 

“At least one of us is getting some good sex around here,” Libby says, eyebrows raised. “Go you. But you need to keep it down, I swear. You’re louder than you think.” 

“I did say that,” I chime in.

“I swear I’m about to die,” April says, pressing her hands to her fire-engine cheeks. 

“I’m just trying to help you,” Libby says. “Put a pillow over your face or something, because if Mom or Dad wakes up and hears that-” 

“I  _ know _ ,” April says, hands braced on the countertop. “I know, I know, I know. Can we stop talking about this now? I really want to be done talking about this.” 

Libby laughs. “Fine. But use those condoms. You don’t wanna end up like me.” 

“ _ Okay _ ,” April says, still blushing. 

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Libby says, setting the dishes down. 

We finish cleaning up the kitchen and the family sticks around for a while longer, but not past dark. When the sun goes down, everyone starts leaving and once they all do, the Kepner family that I actually like gathers in the living room with leftover pie and ice cream. 

“Aunt Mary was awful today, mom,” April says, starting right in. “I didn’t even wanna bring it back up, but I have to tell you. She was being racist towards Jackson.” 

Karen’s eyes widen and Joe sits forward in his chair. “What?” they both say, in unison. 

“It was why I said that thing at dinner,” I say, explaining. “I didn’t wanna make it a big thing. It really doesn’t matter.” 

“It does matter,” Karen says. “You’re here with us for the holiday, that means you’re part of this family.” 

“And even more,” Joe says. “That’s wrong in general. Even if you were a stranger on the street. Those things are not acceptable.” 

Karen pinches her lips and shakes her head. “I don’t want details. I don’t need them. But I will be giving her a call.” 

It feels good, to have these people who hardly know me, stand up for me like this against their own flesh. I hadn’t expected it. I expected it to be brushed under the rug or glossed over, but it’s not. It’s an issue, and they’re going to take care of it. That’s what a family does, and they’ve accepted me as part of theirs after just a couple days. It’s kind of an amazing feeling. 

After everyone goes to bed that night, April sneaks into my room as quiet as a mouse. She’s so quiet, that if the door hadn’t clicked open, I would’ve never realized that she came inside.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Get up. You have to come see the stars.” 

“The stars?” I ask, sitting up halfway on the hard mattress.

“Yeah,” she says, and I notice that she’s wearing a blue coat and slippers over her pajamas. “We can’t even see them in Chicago, but they’re amazing here. I want to show you.” 

“Well, okay,” I say. I find my shoes and a coat, and we slip out into the night through the back screen door that doesn’t latch. 

We don’t have to whisper now that we’re outside, but we still don’t talk at full volume. “I’ll show you the ravine where I got my scar, behind the barn,” she says, linking her fingers with mine. She leads the way, our feet rustling in the grass as we go, and I smile at the shock of her auburn hair standing out against the dark night. It’s darker here than it ever is in the city - either Boston or Chicago. It’s a nighttime I’ve never seen before, and I’m happy that April is showing me. 

“Right here,” she says, and I peer down the long slope that leads to a creek below. “Careful, don’t slip.” She holds tighter on my wrist. “We used to play down there every day. And after it happened, Libby had to carry me up this huge hill. It was so bad.” 

“Blood all over,” I add.

“Right,” she says, giggling.

“Let me see it,” I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pulling up the hem of her shirt. I run my thumb over the raised ridges of it, and she rests her hands over mine. 

“You like it so much,” she says. “You’re so funny.”

I kiss the side of her head and she leans against me. “It feels good here,” I say. 

“Outside?” she says. “With your hands on me? Yeah, it does feel good.” 

“No,” I say, into her hair. “Well, yeah. But I mean, here. Like here, in Ohio. I like it.”

“Really?” she asks, sounding genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I do,” I say. 

“My crazy family doesn’t scare you?” 

I shake my head and drop my lips to her shoulder, even though I run into her puffy coat. “I like them,” I say. “Not like, the whole big everybody. But everyone who’s inside right now, yeah. They’re cool.” 

She makes an affirmative sound. “That makes me happy,” she says. “They like you, too. And I like you being here. It’s kinda funny and weird, you standing here with me. Like, I was little here. I grew up here. I was such a different person before…” She pauses. “You. And school. And everything. And now, you’re back at home with me. It’s like two worlds joining together, I don’t know. It sounds cheesy, it probably doesn’t make any sense.” 

“No, it makes sense,” I say. 

She reaches around and holds the side of my face with one hand, then lifts her gaze to the sky. “Look up,” she says. 

I follow her eyes. When I look, I see what must be millions of twinkling stars, all shining brighter than I’ve ever seen against a midnight blue sky. “Whoa,” I say. 

“I know,” she whispers. “Have you ever seen anything like it in your life?” 

I glance over at her, marveling at the way her eyes are shining with amazement. “I haven’t,” I say, smirking as I look back up. “I’m so glad I’m here with you,” I whisper.

She looks from the stars to my eyes, and hers are glistening with tears for reasons I don’t know. She’s wearing a much different expression than earlier, though, when the tears were angry. Now, they seem melancholy. I don’t know why she’d be sad, though. 

“I want to show you the loft,” she says softly, taking my hand. I follow her lead and she slides open the big doors of the barn, which make a loud noise that disrupts the silence of the night. The animals don’t wake up though, at least not enough, as we slip inside and shut them behind us. 

“It’s just up this ladder,” she says. “Watch your head.” 

She goes up first, and I see her disappear into a trap-door like hole in the ceiling. I go next, taking the ladder rungs slowly so I don’t fall, and see that there’s a room up here with a pointed ceiling that must be the roof of the barn. There are hay bales stacked along the walls and loose hay in the middle, and she’s sitting on a nest of it. 

“I used to come up here to be alone,” she says, looking around. 

“It’s big,” I say. 

“I know,” she says. “And the hay is softer than you think. Come sit.”

I sit down next to her and she reclines on my lap, her back against my chest and our legs stretched out two different ways. She’s playing with a piece of straw, tearing it apart strip by strip, and staring down at it without saying anything. 

“I don’t think I want to go back,” she says, chuckling once. “I like it so much better here. Like you said.” 

“It’s hard, being away from home,” I say. 

She nods, still watching her fingers. “I miss them a lot,” she says. “I didn’t really realize it until I got back here, just how much.” She turns her head so she can see me. “Don’t you miss home, too?” 

I shrug. “It doesn’t mean as much to me as it does to you,” I say. “And anyway, for me… I don’t know. Home has more to do with a person than a place.” 

I don’t realize the gravity of my words until after I’ve said them, and I don’t know if she does at all. I don’t want to take them back. I want her to know what I mean. That person is her. When I’m with her, it feels like I’m home. No matter if we’re in Chicago, Ohio, or freaking Timbuktu. I want to be with her. 

“I get that,” she whispers, then lays down on her back. I watch her from where I’m still sitting, and she traces the muscles of my forearm with her pointer finger before lifting her eyes up to meet mine. “I wanna kiss you really bad,” she says, laughing at herself. 

“Should’ve just said so, then,” I say, and lay back on the hay to join her. I rest on top of her and open my lips against hers, and she situates under me. “Are you uncomfortable?” I ask. 

“No,” she says. “I’m good.” 

I run my hand down her side to rest it on her hip, and move my lips to what I can reach of her neck. She hugs me close, then rolls over onto her side, which pushes me onto mine, too. We’re face-to-face, nose-to-nose, actually, and she’s running the backs of her fingers down my cheek as she studies me. 

“What?” I say, my voice nearly inaudible. 

She takes in a shaky breath, eyes darting all over my face. “You know how, in life… you… you meet like, thousands of people. So many people. And none of them really, I don’t know. Touch you.” She blinks slowly, her eyes glistening again. “But then you meet one person. And your life is changed forever.” 

My heart is beating so fast. It’s obvious that she’s talking about me, but I had no idea she felt this way. Is this her way of saying that she has feelings for me, too? I wish she’d put it in simpler terms. I don’t want to assume anything and be wrong and ruin the friendship that we’ve made. That would be awful. 

“I know what you mean,” I say, even though I really don’t. I just want her to know that I feel the same way, but I don’t know how to tell her. Everything seems so complicated. I just want to be with her. Be with her for real, without any fake pretenses. I want to be her boyfriend, I just  _ want _ her. But I don’t know if she wants me that bad, or if at all. Even after what she just said. She could’ve been speaking generally, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. 

All I know is that her lips are close to mine and I need to kiss her, so I do. It’s slow and intimate, like we’re trying to memorize each other through the way our mouths are moving. I bury my hand in her hair and pull her head closer, and she whimpers softly because of it.

She pulls back slowly, taking my lower lip with her until it pops back into place. As she traces her thumb over my eyebrow, she whispers, “I want you.” 

“Yeah?” I say. “Right here?” 

She nods, biting her lip. 

“But Libby’s condoms,” I say. “They’re in the house.” 

She shakes her head slightly, digging in her coat pocket before coming out with a golden-wrapped foil package. “I thought ahead,” she says.

I smile and laugh a little bit. “You planned this?” I ask. 

“I hoped,” she replies, handing it to me so she can shimmy out of her pajama pants. “Brr,” she says, hugging herself. “Cold.” 

“I’ll fix that,” I say, shedding my jacket and pressing my body down onto hers. I kiss her again, and she pushes her tongue inside my mouth with a sigh, wrapping one bare leg around mine to yank me even closer. 

“I don’t wanna wait,” she says, so I pull away and strip down, not wasting any time in putting the condom on. 

I hold onto her hips when I push inside her, my fingers digging into her soft skin. When I thrust for the first time, I can see her breasts bounce under her pajama top, and I want nothing more than to really see them, but I don’t want her to get cold. I bend at the waist and kiss the part of her belly that’s showing, and she rakes her fingernails down the back of my scalp. 

She arches her neck and moans softly, and I can’t stop thinking about the way her skin looks in the light shining in from the moon. I don’t usually ever think about stuff like that, but with her it’s different. I notice every little thing about her. 

I start moving my hips faster, pushing into her deeper, and she opens her mouth wide as she loses her breath. She takes one of my hands that’s braced by her head and sucks on my thumb, biting down hard on it as I hit that spot inside her over and over again. She runs her hand up my arm and holds on tight to my bicep, and lifts her hips to meet mine blow-for-blow. 

“Oh, my god,” she moans, bending her arms to cover her eyes with her elbows. “Right there, I swear it’s right there. Please, please, please, oh my god, right there!” 

She grits her teeth and lets out a long stream of air from between them, tightening her legs on either side of my hips. 

“You go first,” she insist, hips squirming. “I wanna feel you come. It’ll make me… you go first, Jackson, god, please.” 

It doesn’t take much more than her words to push me over the edge. My hips start bucking erratically and I let loose inside her, dropping my head to rest in the crook of her neck as she has her own orgasm just following mine. She breathes heavily, clutching at my back as her body twitches underneath me, and lets out a long moan as it dissipates. 

“I want you to know,” she says, barely able to catch her breath. “That no one else… will ever make me feel like that.” She shakes her head, solidifying the statement. “Only you.” She drags her fingernails down my back as far as she can reach, and I open my mouth on her throat. “Only you.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**APRIL**

I can’t stop having sex with Jackson.

Clearly, he can’t stop having sex with me, either. 

It’s like once we started, it’s impossible to think about anything else. He’ll be doing the most mundane thing and I’ll be thinking about how he feels inside me. Just last night, he was washing dishes at the sink with my mom and I was standing at the island, watching his back muscles move under his shirt.

I think I really am sick in the head. I’ve never thought like this before. I’ve never been boy crazy. 

But now I am crazy over one boy. This boy never leaves my mind, or my bed at night. We haven’t slept a night apart in I can’t remember how long. Even though it’s Thanksgiving break and we’re still at my parents’ house, we’ve snuck into each other’s rooms every night. 

On Saturday morning, today, everyone is allowed to sleep in. It’s the one day out of the whole week that Dad doesn’t make us get up for chores, and I relish it by locking my door - something we’re technically not supposed to do - and slowly running my fingers down Jackson’s bare chest. 

With the sun shining in from the far window, he barely looks real. His skin is clear and gorgeous, sticky with just a bit of sweat from being so close to me all night. I like it, though. And, not unusually, he’s completely naked. So am I. And I don’t feel exposed or uncomfortable at all. I don’t even feel scared that my family might to catch us, because I’m so purely blissed out. 

“Jackson…” I whisper, scooting closer to him and throwing one leg over both of his. “Wake up, city boy.” 

His lips twitch, and I smile because of it. I skim my hand over his belly to rest low on his hips, pulling at his body to jostle him a bit. “Go back to bed,” he grumbles. “Thought you said we could sleep in today.”

“We did,” I say. “It’s almost 8.” 

He laughs. “That’s not sleeping in.” 

I plunk my chin down on his collarbone and accidentally-on-purpose graze my fingers over his half-hard erection. “I don’t wanna sleep...” I murmur. His eyes open slowly and I break out in a huge grin when they land on me. “Hi,” I whisper excitedly. 

“Morning,” he says, tightening his arm around my waist to pull me in. He ends up getting me on top of him, which I don’t fight, and I sit on his stomach with my hands flat on his chest. “What a way to wake up,” he says, dragging his fingernails up my sides. 

I shiver beneath his touch and bend at the waist, angling my mouth against his. I kiss him, slow and heated, and he buries his fingers deep into my hair to grip the base of my skull. 

I knead his shoulders as I feel his tongue in my mouth, then pull away with his lower lip popping from between my teeth when I get far enough away. His hands unbury themselves from my hair and find my waist again, fingers reaching around to the small of my back where they land on the dimples there. 

I clench my thighs around his waist and rock my hips back and forth a little bit, hinting and teasing at the same time. It’s not hard to figure out what I want. It’s what I always want. He’s no different, either. We’ve come to depend on each other so heavily to feel good. I find that I’m the happiest when I’m around him - no matter what we’re doing. But right now, sex is so new and so gratifying. I have no desire to try and control myself. 

“Do you wanna?” I ask, a little breathless. My eyes dart to my nightstand drawer, where we both know the condoms are tucked. I pull my lower lip into my mouth and know his answer already. He doesn’t have to give me one verbally - he’s reaching for the drawer just seconds after I speak.

I start to lift my leg off of him so I can lay down, but he keeps me where I am. “I want you right there,” he says, fingers gripping me tight. I can feel the square foil of the condom wrapper pressed against my side, under his palm. 

“Here?” I ask, as if it’s so outrageous. “Me, on top?”

He nods, reaching around me to roll the condom on. He doesn’t even need to watch himself do it, he’s that practiced. We’ve been especially busy. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

I let a short huff of breath from my nose. “But I don’t know how,” I claim. 

“Here,” he says, and solidifies his grip on my hips so he can lift me up a little bit. “Lower down on it. This way, you control everything. How deep you go, how much you move, everything. And,” he says, with a grin. “I can see so much of you.” 

“You want that?” I ask, reaching back to place my hands on his thighs. 

“Of course I do,” he says, thumbs on the points of my hipbones. 

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll try. But you have to help me.” 

“Gladly,” he says, eyes flashing at me as I adjust my legs so I’m hovering right over him. When his tip touches my entrance, we make eye contact and break into matching smiles, and I slowly lower myself down until he’s filling me up all the way. “Fuck,” he breathes, and my eyes roll back from the feeling. 

My thigh muscles are tense at first, but not when Jackson kneads them with his fingers and turns me to putty in his hands. I widen them and take him even deeper, which makes his hips snap up and his fingers press deeper into my waist. 

As my eyes are closed, he swivels my hips side to side and makes me lose my breath. “There you go…” he says, ghosting my movements until I take control of them myself. “God, that feels good. You. You feel so amazing.” 

“So do you,” I say, leaning forward with my hands near his neck. I press wet, open-mouthed kisses to his chin, jaw, and sternum, and keep rolling my hips as his lift to meet them. 

He slips his hand between us and deftly presses his thumb to those nerves that light me up inside. I can’t help the scream that comes out of my mouth, and we both freeze after it sounds through the air. I hear a thump from downstairs, then quick footsteps heading towards the stairs. 

“No, no, no, no,” I say, hands lightly smacking his stomach. As I’m freaking out, he’s still inside me and I’m so, so close to coming. But I know those footsteps - those are worried mom footsteps. She heard my scream and she’s coming up; I hear her walking on the stairs now. “You need to hide,” I tell him, and lift my leg over him so I pull off in one fluid motion. I yank open my top drawer of clothes that I didn’t bring to DePaul and throw on an old, ratty nightgown, and Jackson disappears into my closet as fast as he can. The doors have just stopped rattling when Mom comes through the door that I very quickly unlocked. 

“April?” she says, peeking her head in.

I hope she can’t tell that I was just having sex. What does that even look like? I smooth my hair down, but hope that she’ll chalk its messiness up to the fact that I just woke up.

I can practically still feel him between my legs. Can she tell? 

“Are you okay?” she continues. “I heard a scream.” 

“I, um, yeah,” I say, switching my weight from foot to foot. “I bumped my head, this drawer was open.” I gesture to the drawer I’d just been digging in. “Didn’t see it and it hurt.”

“Oh, I bet,” Mom says. “I was just checking, just a little worried.”

I force a smile and say, “Yeah.” 

“Come down for breakfast soon,” she says. “Everyone else is awake.”

“We- I will,” I say, folding my hands at my waist. “I’m just gonna get myself together.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling sweetly before leaving. 

Once the door is closed and her footsteps disappear into soundlessness, I relock my room and yank open my closet. 

“Oh my gosh,” I say, eyebrows up and a disbelieving smile on my face. “Oh my gosh.” 

Jackson is half-hidden behind my old dresses that I stopped wearing in middle school; a bunch of faded blues, pinks and purples are looking back at me. The look on his face is hilarious - he’d been as still as a statue, but now he cracks up laughing. 

“You are such a sneak!” he says, unwinding himself from all the clothes. He’s still completely naked, so I waste no time in trailing my hands down the muscles of his back as he walks towards my bed. 

“What, did you want me to let her walk in on us?” I ask, playing with him. 

He turns around, a devilish look in his eyes. “You…” he begins. 

“Me, what?” I ask, smiling with my top teeth over my lower lip. 

“I just wanna…” he says, grinning as he shakes his head. 

“What?” I prompt, still giggly. 

He wraps his arms around my waist and gets us both back down on the mattress, this time his body over mine. “Where was I?” he asks. 

“We gotta be down for breakfast soon,” I say, fingertips dancing over his collarbones. “So can you be on top,  _ please _ ?” 

He rolls his eyes, yanking up the skirt of the nightgown I’d thrown on so haphazardly. “So lazy,” he says. 

I smack his chest. “Hey.” 

He chuckles and bends to kiss my neck, but the frilly collar gets in his way. “Jesus,” he says, lifting back up. “What, is this thing from like, the 1800s or something?” 

I giggle. “What? I used to wear it every night.” 

“When you were aboard the Mayflower?” he says, hitching the skirt up even higher. “Or when you were Amish? Because those are the only two reasons you could ever wear this thing.” 

“So take it off me, then,” I say, wiggling my hips. 

“Gladly,” he says, and pulls it off after I lift my arms over my head. “Much better.” He presses quick kisses to my sternum, under which my heart is pumping like crazy with excitement. He drags his lips over the swell of my breast and then lower to my nipple, where he opens his mouth wide and sucks hard. 

“Mm,” I whimper, a little desperately. My heartbeat is now situated tight between my legs, throbbing insistently. “Not that I don’t love this, but we don’t have a lot of time to…” 

“Got it,” he says, mouth moving wetly against my skin. “Let me get a new condom.” 

He reaches over me, grabs a new one, then comes back to roll it on. I watch his fingers pull it over his erection and find my hips lifting to welcome him, and I know he notices too. 

“I’ll get there,” he says, holding the side of my thigh with one hand. “Patience is a virtue.” 

I laugh breathlessly. “Don’t talk to me about virtues right now,” I say.

He looks at me slyly. 

“You good?” he asks a few moments later, making steady eye contact. I nod quickly and widen my thighs, and arch my neck when he pushes inside me. 

“Oh, god,” I moan, lifting my arms to rest above my head on the pillow. “Go deeper. I can take you deeper.” 

He makes a strained sound that turns me on even more, and I force my eyes open to look at him. He has his lower lip pulled into his mouth and his hips snap seemingly involuntarily, and that makes my back scoot up a little on the mattress. 

When we find a rhythm, I tell myself that I have to be quiet when I come. I know I’m not going to want to, and I know for a fact that when it happens, I won’t even be in my own mind. I won’t be thinking about anything but the sparks lighting up my body like fireworks. So I tell myself now.  _ You can’t scream _ . 

“You can’t scream,” Jackson murmurs, lips against the shell of my ear. 

“I know,” I breathe. 

“Little hard when the guy you’re banging is so amazing, huh?” he says. 

“Don’t say ‘banging,’” I say with a slight smile. “You sound 12.” 

“Yeah, 12 inches,” he says, and I screw up my lips to keep from laughing. 

He keeps pumping into me, and it feels better with each thrust. I keep getting close to the edge, then he pulls me away from it. It takes me a while to realize that he’s doing it on purpose. 

“I told you we don’t have much time,” I say, widening my eyes for effect. 

“Oh,” he says. “You want me to make you come?” 

I give him a deadpan look. 

“Well, that can be done,” he says, making heady eye contact with me as he wets his first two fingers with his tongue. “Because I happen to be the only guy in the world who knows how to give you the best orgasm you’ve ever…” He slips those fingers inside of me and curls them upwards, which makes my mouth fall open and my feet flex. “Had,” he finishes. 

My body twists underneath him as it happens, and he opens his mouth against mine to absorb any sound I might make. As I’m still coming, I feel his body moving erratically overtop of mine and know that he is, too. Thank god. I love it when he comes while my orgasm is still happening. It makes me feel so connected to him. 

After it’s over, we lie shoulder-to-shoulder, all sweaty. Our chests are heaving and I still feel all the blood centered between my legs - hot and wanting. But I know I can’t have any more of him. We have to get downstairs before things start to look even more suspicious than they already do. 

We stagger our entrances. I go down first and tell Jackson to wait ten minutes. When I get into the kitchen, my sisters are milling about quietly, which is unusual for them. 

“Hey guys,” I say. “Where’s Mom?” 

Libby glances over at me with a plate of toast in her hands. “Ran to Meijer,” she says. “We’re out of pads.” 

“Who needs pads?” I ask. Something incredibly weird about me and my sisters is that our cycles are all synced up. Alice was the last, obviously, but hers came earlier this year and it linked up with the rest of ours right away. Mom, too. Even when I went away to school, the scheduling didn’t change. “It’s not that time yet.” 

Kimmie narrows her eyes at me. “Yes, it is, genius,” she says. “I’m having cramps like, so bad.” 

I flit my eyes to the calendar. “It can’t be the-” My eyes land at the end of all the marked-off Xs. “The 26th. It’s the 26th.” 

“You didn’t get yours?” Alice asks, sounding concerned. 

“No, n-no,” I say, hands suddenly trembling. I force them together to stop the movement. “I did. I just have pads, that’s all. Someone should’ve asked to borrow some. Someone just… should’ve asked.” My mouth is dry. My tongue feels like a big cotton ball sitting in the middle of all my teeth. Something is wrong. Something is really wrong. I am a clock. I am never late. 

But I am late. Four days after Jackson and I had pull-out sex, I’m late. 

“Morning, everybody,” he says, right on cue. I glance over at him, feeling my breath come in shallow bursts. I feel like everyone in this room must know. He loops an arm around my shoulder comfortably, his body warmth radiating onto me. “Mornin’, pretty piano girl.” 

“Hi,” I peep, chewing the inside of my cheek. 

“You okay?” he asks, turning his head to check. I can tell by his change of tone that he’s concerned. 

I feel cornered. I don’t know what to do. I lift my eyes from the floor to see that Libby’s staring at me, and I know she’s the one I need to talk to. And by the look on her face, it seems like she’s already halfway to knowing. 

I’m pregnant. I have to be. There’s no way I’m not. 

I wet my chapped lips and grit my teeth together, willing my period to come instantly. It’s almost like I’m trying to push it out, if that were possible. 

Standing here in the kitchen, I can’t imagine myself having a baby. 

“Mama…” I hear Liam say, in the recesses of my mind. He comes stumbling in from the other room, blanket trailing behind him as he rubs his eyes. 

I’m imagining a little biracial child in his wake, calling  _ me  _ mama. I think my throat closes up. 

“April,” Jackson’s voice brings me back to earth. “I asked, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” I spit out. “I-I just… hungry. I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” I walk to the pantry and pull out a cereal box, which results in about four more boxes tumbling to the floor and spilling all over. “Since when do we have so much cereal?” I ask, laughing nervously. Everyone thinks I’m crazy, I can tell by their faces. 

“Duckie, do you need to sit down?” Libby asks, hoisting Liam up on her hip. 

I’m going to be a mom at 18. Well, 19, presumably. I’ll have turned 19 by the time the baby is born. I’ll have to quit college and move back home. Jackson won’t want to move with me, and I’d never make him. I’m never going to be a professional vocal music teacher. I’m going to be a mom at 19 with a baby on my hip, staring out at the world from this front porch that I will never leave. 

“I’m  _ fine _ , I said,” I say, leaning forward with my hands on the kitchen counter. I feel Jackson’s tentative touch on my lower back, and I let it stay. 

“Are you gonna clean up your spill?” Alice asks. “Mom will get-”

“I’m getting there!” I snap. I feel like my world is closing in on me. I feel like I have to make every decision right  _ now _ . 

“Geez, okay,” Alice says. “I was just asking. I’m not gonna help you now.” 

“I didn’t ask you to,” I say, taking in a big breath. I clean up the spill and still feel Jackson’s eyes on me. “Do you want something to eat?” I ask him. 

“Whatever you’re having,” he says. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

He eyes me. “You just said you were.” 

“I…” I close my mouth. “I’m not anymore.” 

“I can get my own,” he says, unwinding the package of bread. “You can go sit. You seem off. Just… breathe for a sec.”

“I am breathing,” I say, narrowing my eyes. But I follow his advice and walk towards the table. Just as I’m about to sit, though, Libby grabs me by the elbow and ushers me into the downstairs bathroom.

“God!” I say, after she’s shut and locked the door. 

“You don’t have your period,” she states, plain as day. 

My eyes dart everywhere around the room. Landing on the framed lighthouse picture by the sink, the blue and white patterned hand towels, the hairdryer left out on the white countertop. 

“Do you?” she prompts. 

I shake my head. My eyes grow hot and tears well up in them, but I wipe them away quickly before they can slide all the way down my cheeks. 

“Damn it…” she hisses, one hand to her forehead. She knows how much like clockwork we Kepners are. It’s a running joke in our family. The fact that I didn’t get my period on the same day as everyone else is a very big deal. “God damn it.” 

“I didn’t… I thought we…” I stammer, throat growing tight. “He pulled out! That first night, Libby, I swear. He pulled out. It was all over my…” I cut myself off and absentmindedly gesture to my stomach, where a baby is probably growing right now. “None went in. It didn’t. I swear. I don’t know how…” 

She’s shaking her head. Slow at first, then faster. “You know what they call people who have pull-out sex?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“What?”

“Parents,” she says, jutting her chin out. “April…” she begins, but doesn’t finish. She just keeps shaking her head. 

“I know!” I say. “I know! You’re just making me feel worse, I’m sorry!” 

“No, stop,” she says. “You don’t need to say… we don’t even know for sure. We need to get a test. A good one, from Walgreen’s.” 

I stand across from her for a minute, silent. Just staring down at the blue rugs. 

“What?” she asks. 

“I have to tell him,” I say. 

“No,” she says insistently. “Not until we know for sure.”

“He deserves to know,” I argue.

“What, so he can freak out over nothing if it turns out to be negative?” she tosses back. 

“I’m not gonna lie to him,” I say. “I want to tell him. He’s my best friend. I think he should know.” 

Libby lets out a long sigh. One of the sighs where she wants to make it clear that she thinks I’m wrong. But my stubbornness is stronger than my sister’s, so I push past her and walk out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen.

“Jackson,” I say, and I realize that my knees are wobbling. “I, uh… I need to talk to you. Really bad. Can you… can you just come here, please? Please, to the bathroom?” 

All of my sisters are watching us. This couldn’t have waited, though. I couldn’t sit there and eat breakfast with him like I might not be carrying his child inside me. 

“Uh, okay,” he says, pushing back his chair. “What’s up?”

“Come with me,” I say, pulling him by the wrist. I shut the bathroom door and lock it behind us just as Libby had, and just stare at him with wide, glassy eyes for a moment.

“Dude, April, what?” he says. “You’re freaking me out. Like, a lot.” 

“Makes two of us,” I say, wringing my hands. “I… I don’t know how to say this. I don’t. I didn’t think this would ever be me, I thought I was gonna be the one to get out and do more than this… I guess I don’t even know for sure yet, but I kind of do. I basically do. I-” 

“Can you stop not making sense?” he says, sounding fed-up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.” 

I let out a long, shaky sigh. “My family works like clockwork. My period is never late. And… I am. I’m late. I didn’t get it today, which makes me officially late. That’s never happened. My body doesn’t work like that. Jackson… I … we…” I chew on my lip. “I think I’m pregnant.” I barely let the words sink in before I start spewing again. “If I am, I mean, I probably am, I’m gonna keep it. I don’t believe in abortion, my family would kill me and I could never live with myself… I don’t know, adoption could be a thing I think about, but I don’t think that would sit right with me, either. Knowing my kid is out there and I’m not their mother. I don’t think I could do it. I think I’d think about it obsessively. And obviously I don’t expect anything from you, either. This wasn’t even supposed to be a thing, you know, us. But then it got so real, and you came here to meet my family, and we keep having sex. It turned into this whole, big… I don’t know, thing. But I don’t expect you to stay or… or be with me or anything like that. You can even pretend that we never-”

“I’m in,” he says, cutting me off. 

I screw up my eyebrows, totally confused. “Wh… what?” 

“I’m in. All the way,” he continues. “I know it might not be what you planned, or-or how you planned it. But we can do this. We’ll be together. Have an awesome kid, be amazing parents, I’m in.” 

I feel like I could fall to the floor. I have to hold onto the sink so I won’t. “D-don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” I say, my voice very weak.

“I mean it,” he says. “We can do this.” 

My chest starts to feel lighter. There’s something blossoming inside it now, something fluttery and free. It makes me feel hopeful, even in this most unhopeful of circumstances. 

“You really think that-” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “You meet one person, and your life is changed forever.” 

My mouth is hanging open. I can’t believe any of this. It can’t be real. He can’t be serious. He feels put on the spot, he feels like he has to say this. He can’t really feel this way. “So you… you really want this?” I ask clarifying. 

He takes a few confident steps towards me. “I want this,” he says, solidifying it. “We… we can do this. Me and you, we’re strong and capable people. Yeah, we’re young, but… so what? People used to do it younger. We’re old, compared to the pilgrim days. And you with your nightgown, you got that pilgrim stuff in the bag already. We… we’ll get an apartment, we’ll both go to school half time. We’ll raise our kid and be badass educated students at the same time. We got this.” 

I stare at him while still in shock. “Oh, my god…” I breathe, and hold his face. We kiss for a long time, and he wraps his arms around the small of my back and lifts me slightly off the tiled bathroom floor. When we pull apart, I keep my hands on his face and my eyes locked on his. “Are we really…” I say, a smile wide on my face before it drops completely. “Are you sure we can do this?” I ask, my hands on the sides of his neck now.

As my thumbs stroke his skin, he says - quietly and surely, “We can do this.” 

We blink at each other, then I break into a huge grin and kiss him again. He holds the back of my head with one hand and I let him lift me high off the ground, smiling so hard that he ends up pressing his lips to my teeth. I pull his bottom lip into my mouth and feel my heart flopping around in my chest; this can’t really be happening to me. It can’t. I don’t even know what to think.

When we pull apart, tears are streaming down my cheeks. I can’t put my finger on a specific reason why I’m crying - there are way too many. I wipe them away hastily and take a big breath in, and Jackson fixes a piece of my hair. He looks at me for a long time, his eyes steady into mine, and I place my hands flat on his chest. 

“I have to find out for sure,” I say. “Libby’s gonna take me to Walgreen’s. Do you mind… staying here?”

I can’t take the test with him around. I know I won’t be able to do it. I’ll probably launch into full-panic mode.

“It’s not anything against you,” I say. “I-I’d want you to come. But she offered. And she knows how I get when I freak out, and I don’t want you to have to be around-” 

“If you wanna just go with your sister, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll hang out here with the other two.” 

I nod shakily. “Okay,” I say. “Thank… thank you.” 

Libby and I communicate in code around Alice and Kimmie, and she asks them if they can watch Liam while we go run an errand. “Where’re you going?” Alice asks, drifting to the front door to follow us as we put on our shoes. 

“To the store real quick,” Libby says, standing up after tying her laces. 

“But Mom’s already there,” Alice says. 

“Different store,” I say. 

“For what?” 

“Duckie’s hairbrush broke,” Libby says. “We’re going to get her a new one.”

“I have an extra-” Kimmie begins. 

“Hey, can someone come and show me the horses?” Jackson cuts in. “I haven’t seen them yet.” 

“Oh, we can!” Alice and Kimmie chorus, and I shoot Jackson a thankful look across the foyer. 

When Libby and I are in her car on the way to Walgreen’s, it’s quiet at first, but the silence is loaded with things begging to be said. Growing up, we were never the closest. There’s an age gap that’s just big enough, and when I would try and tag along with her friends, she’d hate it. So I took to playing with Kimmie and Alice. But now, sitting in this little Ford Fusion with her, there’s not anyone else I’d rather be with. I look over at her and see a calm, focused expression on her face as her hands grip the wheel right where they should. I feel safe with her. She’s my big sister, so of course I do. But right now, the feeling is extra strong. 

She sighs softly at a red light and glances over at me. “Duck, how did this happen?” she asks, no malicious tone in her voice. 

I let a long pause pass. “I mean, you already know,” I say. 

She shakes her head and glances at the light to see if it’s changed. It hasn’t. “No, not… that,” she says. “You and Jackson. The whole relationship. You just told us about it out of thin air. We never heard about you meeting him, crushing on him, nothing. It just seemed to pop up out of nowhere, and I’ve been meaning to ask you about it.” 

My gut clenches as I wonder if I should tell her. Like, really tell her everything. I take my time in piecing together the words I want, and decide that I don’t want to build another lie. 

“We’re not together in the most… conventional of ways,” I say.

“I didn’t think so.” 

She presses her foot to the gas and we start moving again. 

“In the beginning, he was more of a way for me to get to someone else,” I finally admit, staring down at the clean floor mat under my pink tennis shoes. 

“What do you mean?” 

I scratch my cheek with one fingernail. “I wanted this boy named Alex to notice me, and Jackson wanted his music theory papers written. So we made a deal, really early in the quarter. He’d pretend to date me to make Alex jealous, and I’d write his big papers.” I wait for her to say something - to judge me, scold me, anything. But she stays quiet. “And it actually worked, for a little while. Alex noticed me, and I felt good about it because Jackson has taught me… a lot.” I decide not to get into the details on that one. “But Alex was a douche. And Jackson even told me that… but I didn’t listen. It didn’t work out with Alex. I can’t even imagine where I’d be right now if it  _ did _ …” I shudder a little. “But after that kinda crumbled, we just didn’t stop. And…” I glance over at my sister’s profile as she watches the road. “Now I’m not sure what we’re doing.” 

“Having a whole lot of sex,” Libby says, eyebrows raised. 

I snort softly. “Well, yeah.” 

We pull into the Walgreen’s parking lot and park, but she doesn’t shut the car off or unbuckle yet. “Do you have feelings for him?” she asks. 

That’s the question I’d been afraid of, and she laid it right out there. Stripped and bare. No frills or sugarcoating. 

“I…” I stammer, and start picturing him while he sits next to me on the piano bench, mirroring my movements with his eyes cemented on me. I picture him on the soccer field, beaming up at me while I cheer in the stands. I picture him outside in the barn at night, telling me that his home depends on a person. And something within me tells me that that person he was talking about… is me. “I think I do,” I say. 

I feel like I’ve been shoved backwards. This is the first time I’ve truly admitted it to myself, let alone said it out loud. 

I press my lips together as I shake my head. “But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” I say. “We made an agreement in the beginning of it all. That we couldn’t fall in love with each other. And…” I sigh. “I think I’ve gone and broken it. I ruined it.” Libby chuckles knowingly, so I snap my head over to her a little defensively. “What?” I snap.

“I’m not laughing at you,” she says. “Well, I kind of am. God, April. You must be really blind.” 

“What are you talking about?” I ask, feeling my face grow hot. 

“That boy sat through a Kepner Thanksgiving,” she begins. “It was admirable when I thought you two were legitimately dating. But now, knowing that he did that while you’re not even officially a thing?” She blows air out from between her lips. “He loves you, April.” 

I grip the armrest tight in my fingers. “What?” I say. “No, he doesn’t.” 

Libby nods vigorously, eyes wide. “Yes, he does,” she says. “He’s not faking any of it. You’re not the only one who broke your silly little agreement.”

“I… I…” I say, unable to get any words out. I’ve thought about it, sure, that Jackson’s feelings might be real, too. But I told myself to stop dreaming. That there’s no way that they could be. But after his little speech to me in the bathroom, I’m starting to realize that maybe Libby is right. 

“The way he looks at you,” Libby says, her voice soft. “Is just… wow. He always makes sure you’re okay before anything else. He  _ looks _ for you. When he walks in a room, he looks for you. And when he sees you… his eyes. They light up. You gravitate to each other like magnets.” She nods, solidifying her words. “Nothing about what he’s doing is fake, Duckie.” 

My mouth is dry as I clasp my hands together. “You really think so?” 

She unbuckles her seatbelt. “I know so.”

As we sit in the Walgreen’s bathroom ten minutes later with the test, trying not to look at it as it loads on the sink, I feel like I might throw up. I still don’t have my period. I’ve been feeling so tired lately, and I know that’s a symptom of pregnancy. I’ve convinced myself that I am, that I have to be. 

But Jackson said he’s in it with me. He’s not going to leave me hanging to take care of this baby on my own. 

“Do you think it’s ready?” I ask Libby, after a much longer time than we needed has passed. 

“Probably,” she says. “You ready?” 

I’m picturing the empty crib in the attic, the one that Alice had used and that Liam just grew out of. Will we have to get it back down soon for my baby, after Dad had just put it back up there? How will I tell my parents? Oh, god, how will I tell my parents? 

“You look,” I say. “I can’t do it.” 

She nods slightly and takes the test off the sink. I watch her glance down at it, then back up at me. She shakes her head almost minutely and says, “You’re not.” 

My stomach drops and relief floods my body. My mouth gapes open and a disbelieving breath escapes me as I fumble to look at the results for myself. “I’m not,” I breathe. 

That crib will stay empty. 

***

I burst out of the car when we pull back up into the driveway and see Jackson on the porch, swinging calmly. I clamber up the front steps and he stands, anticipating my answer, and I throw myself at him with my arms around his neck.

“Negative,” I say, my nose pressed against his. I’ve never felt such pure relief in my life. “Negative.” 

“For real?” he says, looking hopeful. 

I nod, lips pressed together in a bright smile. “We don’t have to quit school,” I say. “We can go back and… and be bothered by Addie and Amelia and Mark and… and take our class together next quarter that we signed up for, and I can still watch your soccer games and teach you piano and nothing has to change.” He spins me around and gives me a big kiss. 

“You’re not pregnant,” he says. 

I shake my head as the words sink in. I am not pregnant. I thank God over and over again, for giving me this second chance. Now I can live my young adult life with no worries or ties holding me back, holding _ us  _ back. 

“And nothing has to change now,” he says.

“Yes,” I say, as he sets me back down. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

That night is Jackson’s last night with us in Moline. I’ll stay, because DePaul’s break lasts all the way until January - Thanksgiving and Christmas are combined, and Jackson is heading to Boston in the morning. 

“I don’t want you to go,” I say, framing his face with my hands. It’s late - almost 2am - and we’ve already had sex. Now, we’re lying tangled up in one another, under the covers. I want to memorize him so I have something to hold onto while we’re apart. 

“I don’t want to, either,” he says. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

I pout my lower lip out a bit. “I know,” I say, then give him a kiss. “Don’t go.” 

“My mom would kill me,” he says, chuckling softly.

“Who will play with my hair when you go?” I ask, taking his wrist and setting it on my head. He gets the hint and starts weaving his fingers through it, combing it back from my face.

He smiles again. “Oh god, what will you do?” 

I scoot closer, if possible. “Die,” I say. 

“Don’t do that,” he says. “I don’t wanna live in this world without you.” 

His words hit me hard as I remember what Libby and I talked about in the car earlier. I chew on my bottom lip as I decide whether or not to bring it up, and feel him tug my lip out from my teeth and run his thumb over it. 

“Have I ever told you that I love your lips?” he asks, kissing me. When we pull apart, I stare into his eyes and work up all the gumption I’ve ever had. “What is it?” he says, noticing my expression and silence. “You’re freaking me out.” 

“Jackson,” I breathe, and my voice shakes. “Remember how earlier we said that nothing has to change?” He nods. I’m quiet for a long time before saying, “I think I want it to.” 

He squints a bit with confusion. “What?” 

I clear my throat. “I have feelings for you,” I state. My hands are trembling as they softly run over his neck. “Real ones. Big ones. And… I think you have feelings for me, too. Do you?” 

I can’t believe I just said that out loud. What if he says no? What if he doesn’t want this? 

His face breaks out in a grin. “I… yes,” he says. 

“You do?” I ask, in disbelief. 

“Of course I do,” he says. “I just didn’t think you wanted… I didn’t think you’d… I don’t know. I didn’t want to ruin anything. I didn’t want to make you feel weird.” 

I kiss him over and over again, holding his face between my hands and then rolling over so my body is on top of his. He wraps his arms tight around the small of my back and holds me there, and when we break apart from our kiss, we spend a second just smiling into each other’s faces like idiots.

“Can we date?” I ask. “For real?” 

“April,” he says, trailing his fingernails up my spine. “I just have a question.”

A crease appears on my forehead. “What is it?” 

He chuckles at himself and opens his mouth over mine, giving me a heady kiss that I lean heavily into. When he pulls away, he tucks my hair behind one ear and whispers, “Will you be my girlfriend?” 

My heart feels like it’s going to flutter out of my chest. I smooth my fingers over his hair and kiss his face everywhere I can reach, and he laughs as I do so. “Of course,” I say. “Of course I will.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**JACKSON**

It’s been a week and a half since I left the April’s house in Ohio, and I miss her like crazy. 

I’m getting ready for bed after a long day of schmoozing with my mother’s coworkers at the hospital, being shown off like a prized pony and bragged about for my pre-med major. In her mind, once I’m all done with school, I’ll go right to interning alongside her at the hospital I’ve been frequenting my whole life. 

For me, it’s a different story, though. I have no interest in staying in Boston. I like Chicago, I’ve discovered, and I like the midwest. I like New York, too. I want to be out on my own, making my own path. Not riding on my mother’s coattails. 

I let out a long sigh as I run a hand towel over my face, then stare at myself in the mirror. I look at the freckles across the bridge of my nose and can’t help but recount when April saw them for the first time, and I get all smiley about it. I shake my head at myself. If Mark could see me right now, he’d say,  _ Avery, you have it so fuckin’ bad for this girl. _

And I do. I honestly do. When we were lying in her bed on my last night in Moline and she came out and told me how she feels about me, I could barely believe it. I never thought my feelings would be reciprocated - I thought she was bent on keeping our relationship away from that. But I was wrong. And it’s probably the first time that I’ve ever been grateful to be wrong. 

April turned from a stranger into my best friend, and now she’s my girlfriend. I find myself grinning like an idiot as I think about it. 

I change into my pajamas and crawl into my king-sized bed, lying on my back while I hold my phone in front of my face. It’s kind of late, so I don’t know if she’ll be up, but I figured I might as well try. 

**SENT:** hey piano girl, u up?

I flip through my apps to get rid of some notifications, and see that April liked and retweeted a tweet of mine from 42 minutes ago - a picture that I posted of the both of us. It’s a selfie at the airport in front of a wall of windows, my arms around her shoulders and her head tucked under my chin. She’s wearing a big smile, but her eyes are shiny because she’d been crying during our goodbye. I tweeted it with the caption: wont see my girl til school starts again. F depauls long ass break! #MissinHerAlready. 

**RECEIVED:** I’m up. Are you? ;) 

**SENT:** lmao. Im boutta call u. Can u talk? 

**RECEIVED:** no but yes. Call me!!!!!!!! 

I press the little phone button next to her contact and wait for her to answer. When she does, she’s whispering. 

“Hi,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. 

“You’re up late,” I say. 

“I was waiting for you, duh,” she says, giggling. “I missed you.” 

“Yeah, sorry I couldn’t text very well today and tonight,” I say. “Stupid hospital networking shit.” 

“Yeah…” she says. “But that’ll be good for you. For when you’re ready to break into the field and stuff. Right? That you have those connections?” 

I mess with a thread on my blanket. “I guess,” I say. “It’s still annoying to have to sit through all of them talking at me and then pretend I care.” 

“I’d hate that,” she says. “Isn’t it awkward?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “And it drags. Today went on forever, I swear. And all I wanted to do was talk to you.” 

She makes a satisfied little sound. “Same here,” she says.

“What’d you do today?”

“Hmm,” she says, and I hear rustling like she’s rolling over. “I… well, I got up early and did my chores. It wasn’t very fun without you there. I got in a fight with Kimmie, but we’re fine now. She just keeps stealing my stuff without asking like I won’t notice. Oh, and I got my period.” 

“That’s good.” 

“A week late,” she says. “Which is weird. Now I’m the odd one one, not synced with them. Sucks.” She sighs. “I haven’t been feeling very good. I don’t know why, I think I’m getting the flu or something.” 

“Well, it is wintertime,” I say. “That stuff goes around. And you’re super germy anyway.” 

“Shut up!” she says, laughing. “Shut up. I’m just so fricken  _ tired _ , you know? I just wanna sleep all the time.” 

“I feel the same way,” I say. “Break makes me into a big lazyass.” 

“So, nothing different than how you are during the school year?” she says, pleased with herself. 

“Ass,” I mutter, but grin. “You have a fever?” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “All this has been pretty subtle, like it comes and goes. I haven’t really been paying that much attention to it. I don’t know, if it gets worse I’ll probably go to our doctor. I don’t wanna come back to school feeling all gross and sick.” 

“Yeah, then I won’t kiss you. And what will you do then?” I say. 

She giggles. “Don’t even joke,” she says. “I don’t wanna think about that.” 

“Guess you better get healthy soon, then,” I say. “I don’t want my girlfriend sick.” 

She hums softly. “Your girlfriend,” she repeats. 

“You heard me right,” I say. “My girlfriend. My beautiful, amazingly intelligent and gifted girlfriend who I miss so damn much.” 

“Jackson,” she says, and I can almost hear her blush.

I turn over onto my side and wish she was in bed next to me. “I wish I was looking at you,” I say. 

“You miss sleeping next to me,” she says. 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“You miss waking up all sweaty because I give you zero room all night,” she laughs. “Even that?”

“Even that,” I say. “I miss that a lot. Most of all, I miss waking up to you naked. Then waking _ you _ up in a way you really like.” 

I hear her shift again. “Mm,” she says. “I really miss that, too.” She chuckles. “You know, Mark is gonna be so lonely when we go back. Because I want you spending all your time in my room.” 

“Believe me, that’s where I wanna be, too,” I say, and close my eyes. If I try hard enough, I can picture her face across from mine and her hands roaming my body. Fuck, I wish we were together. “Where are you right now?” I ask, testing the waters.

“My bed,” she says. “You know that.” 

“Yeah,” I say. “But… what are you wearing?” 

“Jackson.” 

“It’s just a question,” I say, slyly smiling to myself. “I wanna know if you have that old-timey nightgown on that you love.” 

She snorts quietly. “No,” she says. “I have on regular pajamas.” 

“What ones?” I ask. “Shorts or pants?” 

“Shorts,” she says. “We turned the heat up, it’s hot in the house. I have on my pink-and-white polka-dotted ones. With the silk string, you know those?”

“I know those.” 

“And… my light blue cami.” 

“Anything else?” I ask, picturing her so, so clearly.

“Nope,” she says. “Not even a bra.” She pauses for a second. “What do  _ you _ have on?”

“Just boxers, that’s it,” I say. “You know if you were here, you’d have those hands all over me.” 

“Jackson…” she says, her voice growing quieter. “Are we gonna do this?” 

“Do you want to?” I ask. I know that it won’t take much to get myself hard and I really want to get off thinking about her. It’s the next best thing to being inside her. 

“I miss you so much,” she says. “I’m really turned on just hearing your voice, even though that’s so stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid,” I insist. “Just imagine that I’m right there, right next to you. Like we were all last week. Or do you wanna sneak out to the barn?” 

“Out to the barn,” she says quietly. 

“I wanna put my lips all over you,” I say, not wasting any time getting into this. I flip back over to my back and feel my penis start to stiffen. 

“I don’t care that it’s cold,” she says, the tone of her voice changing. I can hear her situating, too. “I’m gonna take my shirt off, even though the barn’s outside and it’s December.” She lets out a breathy giggle. “I really took it off,” she lets me know.

“Good,” I say. “Now I can really touch you… and see you…” I close my eyes and picture her body below mine, pale and perfect and waiting for me. “God, I’ve never told you this. But your skin tastes  _ so _ good, April. I love having your nipples in my mouth, I love the way they taste and they’re so soft… you should touch them, and it’ll be like I’m there.” 

She lets out a breathy sigh. “I am,” she says. “Mm, I want you here so bad. I love it when… when you bite down on my shoulders and leave marks.” She makes a frustrated little sound. “I’m pretending that my hands are yours. I’m touching my stomach… my hips…” 

“Go lower,” I say, bending my knees so my feet rest flat on the mattress. “Slip your hand inside your shorts.” 

“It’s all hot down there,” she says. “I wish you were here to put your mouth on me.” 

“If I were there, we’d be long past that,” I say. “I can never resist eating you out. God, April, you taste so damn good.” 

I picture her wetting her lips, eyebrows arching upwards as her face flushes. “Should I finger myself?” she asks. “I’ve never done it before.” 

“Pretend it’s me,” I say. “Stick them in your mouth to lube them up, then slide two in.” 

She gasps, and I know she’s done it. “Oh…” she moans softly. “I’m moving them, pumping them in and out like you do… oh, Jackson, you feel so good.” 

I wrap my hand around my dick and stroke it slowly. She’s so damn sexy, and I don’t want to come prematurely. 

“Remember our first time,” she says, her voice now lower and more guttural. “Well, the first time you went down on me. And you made me feel so… much…” she pants. “Imagine if I’d gone down on you, too. And given you head that night.” 

My dick twitches. She’s never given me head before, and I didn’t even know she thought  about it. 

“Would you have liked that?” she asks, all sultry. 

“Fuck, I would’ve loved it,” I say. I start to stroke myself with a bit more purpose. 

“Just picture my warm lips around you,” she says, and my eyes roll back as I flick my thumb over the head of my penis, which makes my hips snap upward. “And my tongue on the underside of it. You can put your hand in my hair and push my head, I don’t care. I like it. I’d just keep sucking until you’re so hard in my mouth and so big… so big I probably can’t even take all of you. And when you come, I’ll swallow it,” she says, her voice smooth as silk. “And just look at you from between your legs. Would you like that?” 

I can’t form words, only grunts. The muscles in my lower belly are clenching as I’m about to get there, and when I do, I make a mess all over my stomach. “Fuck,” I breathe. “God, you’re good at this.” 

“Did you come, baby?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” I say, letting a long breath out of my nose. “And now I’m getting back to you. Are you still touching yourself?” 

“Uh-huh,” she says. 

“I’ve always wondered what your orgasm feels like,” I say. “Because the way your body twists and moves when I give you one makes me think that it really rocks your world.” 

“It does,” she says. “Oh, god, it really does.” 

“If I were there with you,” I say. “I’d have my mouth on you. I’d pull those thighs apart and run my tongue over your lips, and push it inside you and  _ god _ , you’re always so warm and wet,” I say. “Your body is amazing.” 

“Mm,” she moans. “Tell me what else you’d do to me. I want you inside me.” 

Her words give me renewed energy, and my dick twitches once again. “After I give you head, the next step is always fucking you,” I say, then pause. “Is that word okay? I don’t-” 

“Use it,” she breathes.

My chest flushes. “And Christ, you’re so tight. I love the way you feel wrapped around me, and I love having your breasts in my hands as I thrust into you, running my thumbs over your nipples so they get so fucking hard. I’d be kissing you everywhere - your face, your chest, your shoulders, everywhere I can reach. And when you seriously can’t take it anymore, I’d stick my fingers into my mouth and then inside you, and find your clit so you can come. And you look so fucking gorgeous when you come, April, your chest gets all pink and you twist and turn underneath me while I’m still buried deep inside you… there’s no one else in the world who’s ever looked as beautiful as you do when you’re coming.” 

“Oh, god!” she whimpers, and I can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s there. “Oh, god, Jackson… Jackson… I’m coming, I just…” She trails off and starts panting, and I hear a muffled moan as she presumably presses her face into the pillow. “Wow,” she says, after a few moments have passed. 

“Fuck, I really miss you,” I say. “That was amazing, but…” 

“I want the real thing,” she says. “I miss you so bad. I wanna be able to look at you, I bet you look amazing. You always do.” 

“Shut up,” I say. “You flatter me.”

“You do always look amazing, and other girls think so, too,” she says. “But you’re  _ mine _ . Right?” 

“Of course,” I say. “And you’re mine.” 

I hear her make a satisfied, affirmative sound, then she whispers, “I have to go to sleep. Chores in the morning.” 

“Damn that farm life,” I say. “Talk tomorrow. I hope you feel better. Go to the doctor, okay?” 

“Hmm, maybe,” she says. “Maybe I should just have my doctor boyfriend diagnose me instead.” 

“Your boyfriend barely knows jack shit about being a doctor yet, go see a professional,” I say, which makes her laugh. “Someday.” 

“Someday,” she repeats, dreamily. “Goodnight, city boy. Sweet dreams.” 

“Goodnight, April,” I say, and hang up the phone to plug it into the charger. 

***

A few days later, before I even go downstairs on Christmas morning, I call April. Her voice is bright and cheery, even though it’s not even 9am. 

“Merry Christmas!” she says. “What are you doing today?” 

“Merry Christmas,” I say back, rubbing my eyes. “I’m going downstairs for some present time with my mom. Then we’re going into the hospital to help out, which should be pretty good. On Christmas, things can get wild. What are you doing?” 

“Big Kepner family Christmas here at the house, of course,” she says. “We’ve been up for hours already getting everything together. Haven’t done presents yet, but we will in a little bit.” 

“Speaking of presents,” I say. “There should be one under your tree from me.” 

I spent weeks looking for the perfect Christmas gifts for her. I ended up deciding on a full collection of Mozart and Chopin’s works, which are two very thick books full of all the sheet music she could ever want. And alongside that, I got her a decorative hair clip that’s adorned with silver diamonds and shiny emeralds that will stand out from her red hair. She saw it in a case at the jewelry store when we went to the mall with her sisters over Thanksgiving, and I picked it up for her the next day without waiting. She’s going to love it. 

“What!” she says. “Really? Oh, Jackson, you didn’t have to. That’s so sweet of you.” 

“You don’t even know what I got you yet,” I say, laughing lightly. “It could be totally awful.” 

She scoffs. “Well, I got you something, too. And your mom hid it under the tree so you wouldn’t know until the last minute. Because I know you, and you would’ve done some serious sneaking.” 

“You got me something?” I ask. “Nah, you’re lying.” 

“Not lying,” she says. “You’ll see. Call me tonight, okay? I wanna hear about your day.” 

“Okay,” I say. “Merry Christmas, beautiful girl.” 

She makes a squealy sound. “Merry Christmas, my very sweet boyfriend.” 

I hang up the phone and go to the bathroom, then head down the stairs where my mom is sitting with Richard in the living room. Maggie is at her mom’s house today, so it’s just the three of us. After we do presents, I’ll probably head out for my morning run because being around the two of them and their lovey-dovey shit really gets on my last nerve. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Mom says. “Come sit down. I have a few things for you.” 

I get nice things from my mom - new ties, a wallet, but mostly cash, which is what I appreciate most. 

“And your girlfriend mailed this to you the other day,” she says. “I’ve been keeping it from you. Here you go, honey.” 

I can’t help but smile as I look at the package that April wrapped so painstakingly. It’s a good size, which makes me wonder what could possibly be in there. I look up as I feel both my mom’s and Richard’s eyes on me, and they get the hint and look away, making conversation amongst themselves while I open her gift. 

The first thing I pull out is a note, which I read slowly. 

_ Jackson, _

_ You are the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. You make me so happy, I can’t even tell you how happy. These past few months have been the best of my whole life! I can’t wait for everything else in store for us. Also, I hope you like all this. I worked really hard on putting it together. You deserve the best!  _

_ Merry Christmas, city boy  _

_ Love,  _

_ April (aka your piano girl)  _

I smirk at her cute, curly handwriting, and push past the tissue paper to the first gift. I lift it out and see that it’s a piano book for beginners - beginners who are most likely children. I flip through it and chuckle; I can picture April standing in a music store and picking this out for me because she knows how much I love to sit at the piano and learn from her. 

I set it to the side and pull out the next one, which is soft and plush. I lift it out to see it, and find that it’s a stuffed brown and white goat. I laugh out loud and shake my head, picturing her with her goat Lovey’s face pressed to hers, smiling away. Even before she was piano girl, she was goat girl. Now there’s no way I’m ever going to forget that. 

I dig for the last thing, which is in a rectangular box. The box is black with sharp edges, and the inside can slide out from the rest. I study it, creases appearing on my forehead as I do, then slide the middle part out. Inside the box is black velvet, and on it sits a pristine, silver stethoscope. My eyes widen as I look at the bell, where the words ‘Jackson Avery, M.D.’ are engraved in official-looking lettering. 

“Holy shit,” I say out loud, and run my fingers gently over the cool metal. 

“What’s that?” my mom asks, peering down to see. “Oh, my goodness! Did April get that for you?” 

“Yeah,” I say, trying it on around my neck. “Yeah, she did.” 

“That’s gorgeous, sweetheart,” Mom says. Richard agrees. “She knows you well.” 

“I know,” I say, still studying it. I can’t believe that she got this for me - my very first stethoscope. With my name on it and everything. I can’t wait to call her later and talk her ear off about it. 

No matter how much I want to, I don’t wear my stethoscope to the hospital later when we go. I’m not that pretentious about becoming a doctor - not yet, anyway. I have a good time shadowing my mom and socializing with the doctors that I’ve known for my entire life, and come to the conclusion that this Christmas was one of the best in a while. The only thing that would’ve made it better was if April were actually here, but I can’t ask for too much. 

I call her that night, and her voice sounds worn out and tired - completely opposite from this morning. “Hey,” she says. I still hear that smile.

“Hey, baby,” I say. “How was your day?” 

“So long,” she says. “So, so long. But good. It was a really good Christmas. I’m just so freakin’ exhausted from it.” 

“I feel you on that,” I say. “Your big-ass family, damn. I don’t know how you’re still awake right now. I probably wouldn’t be.” 

She chuckles. “I have the biggest headache, too. It’s so annoying. My mom thinks it’s a migraine because it just won’t go away. Well, I mean, it kind of has. I forgot about it earlier. But… geez.” 

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That really sucks.” 

“I’m okay,” she says. “I’ll get through it. What I care about mostly is how you liked your presents this morning.” 

“Oh, my god,” I say, the memory of them rushing back to me. “Number one, I can’t wait to get back to school so you can teach me all those songs on the piano. You dug yourself a pit with that one, you know.” 

She giggles. “I knew you’d like that!” she says. 

“And the damn goat,” I say, shaking my head. “I wanna hate it so bad. But the thing’s in my bed with me right now. It’s your substitute.”

“You’re gonna like her better than you like me, just watch,” she says. “I named her Lovey. Because Lovey is my favorite goat, so you get a Lovey, too.” 

“Amazing,” I say. “And the best part, April. April, god, you really didn’t have to. That stethoscope, like… dude. That’s amazing. I didn’t wanna take it off, it made me feel so legit.” 

She squeals. “Yay!” she says. “I was so excited about that one. You  _ are _ legit. That’s why I got it for you. And I know you’re not an M.D. yet, but… someday you will be. And you can remember the Christmas when I got it for you. I wanted it to be special.” 

“It definitely is,” I say. “I did not expect that. Thank you so much.” 

“You’re welcome so much,” she says back, all cheeky. 

“So how did you like  _ your  _ presents?” I ask. 

“I love them, of course,” she says. “I couldn’t stop flipping through all that sheet music. There’s  _ so _ much, Jackson! I don’t know where you found those books. But I don’t think I’ll stop playing piano for like, the next hundred years probably.”

“That was the goal,” I say. 

“And!” she enthuses. “The hair clip. Jackson, you really shouldn’t have done that. Those are real diamonds and emeralds and… are you sure you want me to have that? It looks expensive. It’s so gorgeous, I love it, but… that’s a lot of money.” 

“Of course I want you to have it,” I say. “You deserve it. I can’t wait to see it in your red hair.” 

“I tried it on earlier,” she says. “I was too scared to wear it for very long, but I loved how it looked. I can’t wait to wear it around you!” 

“I can’t wait until that’s the  _ only _ thing you’re wearing,” I say.

“You’re bad,” she says, then pauses. “But me, too.” 

I hear her yawn, and know I should let her go. For her, it’s been an extremely long day and she’s probably been awake for more than fifteen hours. 

“I’ll let you get some sleep, tired girl,” I say. “I’m glad you had a good Christmas. And the end of break is getting closer. I can’t wait to see you.” 

“I know,” she says, sounding tired. “I’m counting down the days.” 

***

On the plane ride back to Chicago, I can’t stop thinking about April. I’ve been thinking about her for the past week straight, and now the day has finally come where we see each other again. Towards the end of break, she was a little quieter than usual, and I wondered why. But now that we’ll be seeing each other every day again, I know things will go back to normal. 

I know I’m one of the first ones to arrive on the fourth floor, because the whole place is silent. Mark isn’t back yet and neither are the girls. My mom makes a big production of saying goodbye to me, even bigger than she made when she first dropped me off, and I have to do everything I can to get her out of the building. 

Once she leaves, I’m here essentially by myself. I keep my door open and lay on my bed, picking up Mark’s fidget spinner from the floor and twirling it around. I don’t see how he finds endless entertainment from it, because I get bored pretty easily and toss it onto his bed. 

I text April and ask when she’s coming, and she says in less than an hour. So I jump in the shower to get freshened up and change into clean clothes, then deem myself presentable. I don’t want to smell bad when she sees me for the first time in a month. 

I hear the Kepner family through my open door and peek out to make sure it’s them. Of course, I already know that it is, but if I was any bit confused before - that red hair would tell me everything I need to know. I let them go in and get April settled, but once the noise dies down I make my way over and knock on the doorframe. 

“Jackson!” Libby says, facing me with her arms outstretched. “It’s so nice to see you.” 

Karen turns around to look, too, and smiles. There’s something different about her smile, though. I can’t put my finger on what it is - but it doesn’t reach her eyes like it normally would. 

“Hey, guys,” I say. “I heard you come in.”

“Have you been here long?” April asks, walking out from between her sisters to wrap her arms around me. “Hi,” she murmurs against my chest.

“Hey,” I say, and smooth down her hair. Our reunion has to be pretty tame since her entire family is watching, but it feels so good to have her in my arms again. Like, otherworldly good. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you so much,” she says, nuzzling against my chest. 

“And no, not that long,” I say. “My mom dropped me off like, an hour ago. Mark’s not here yet either.” 

“Addie and Amelia just got here, too,” April says. “I saw them parking.” 

We break apart and I hang off to the side while she says goodbye to her family. They all give her hugs, but Karen’s lasts the longest. She squeezes April’s shoulders tight and holds her face in her hands as she looks at her, then gives her a deft kiss on the forehead. 

“I love you, pumpkin,” she says, looking right into April’s eyes. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” 

April nods with Karen’s hands still cupped around her chin. “I will be,” she says. “It’ll be okay. I promise. And I’ll call you. Or you call me, when you know… you… you hear more. And we can figure out everything. I just… I wanna be here right now.”

“I know you do,” Karen says. 

Even though they’re trying to be quiet and subtle, I can’t miss this conversation. And I’m very confused by it. What are they talking about, she wants to be here? Of course she does. We couldn’t wait to get back to school, back to our old routine. Neither of us could stop talking about it. Does she suddenly  _ not _ want to be here? Is something wrong, did I do something that she didn’t like? All I know is that her family needs to get out of here so I can get some answers, because I’m starting to panic over here. 

The moment they all get in the elevator to leave, though, Addison and Amelia corner the two of us.

“You guys,” Amelia says, enveloping April in a big hug. “Oh, my god.”

“What?” April says, and we all start to walk back towards her room. When we get in there, April and I sit on the bed, Amelia sits on the floor, and Addie sits in the desk chair. 

“I’m just…” Amelia shakes her head and looks at Addison, who has started to cry. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, now confused about something totally new. 

Addison shakes her head and looks down, trying to wipe her tears in a subtle way that we won’t see. But it’s obvious that she’s upset about something. 

“You guys didn’t hear?” Amelia asks, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. 

“Hear what?” April asks, eyebrows furrowing together. 

Amelia sighs. “It’s so damn weird to be back here. I’m so grateful to see you guys, it just… what happened really put things in perspective for me.” She chews on the inside of her cheeks. “It still doesn’t feel real. Like… not at all.” 

“Okay, what are you talking about?” I ask again. 

Addison sniffs in and blinks her eyes hard. “Over break, Alex was in a car accident,” she says. “He didn’t make it.” 

My eyes widen. “Whoa,” I say. “Wait… what?” 

“He  _ died _ ,” Amelia says.

“Well, I heard that part. But how?” 

Addison crosses one leg over the other. “The roads were really icy one night and he was driving a pickup truck that didn’t have 4-wheel drive. He was also drunk and… he slipped off the road and crashed into a tree. Head-on. He died on impact.” 

April’s mouth falls open. “Oh, my god…” she says, clasping her hands together. I see her lips moving silently a few beats later and know she’s saying a prayer. 

I feel weird. I punched that guy in the face not that long ago, and now he’s dead. That doesn’t seem right. I mean, I had a reason. He was horrible to April. But now… he’s dead. Gone. We’re never going to see him again - no one is. 

When Addie starts crying harder, Amelia leads her back to their room. I look across the bed at April, who has her knees pulled to her chest. 

“You okay?” I ask. 

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “He was a person,” she mutters. “A person, and now… he’s just… not here anymore.” 

“I know,” I say.

She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “It isn’t weird to you? It isn’t sad?” 

“Of course it’s sad,” I say. “It’s fucking horrible. I just wasn’t that close to him, I don’t have any strong feelings, I guess. All I knew of him is that he was a douche who took advantage of you. I feel shitty that I punched a guy who fucking…  _ died  _ not that long after, but… I don’t know. There’s no much I can do about it now.” 

She gives me a weird look with guarded eyes. “He was still a person,” she says. “With a family who loved him.”

“I’m not saying any of that is wrong,” I say. “I’m just saying I’m not going to cry over him, because my emotions wouldn’t be authentic.” 

I can tell she wants to say more, but she keeps it inside. 

“Pretty shitty way to start out the quarter,” I say. “Pretty depressing.” 

“I’m sure it’s plenty more depressing for the people who love him,” she snaps. 

“You’re right,” I say, my voice holding a tone. We’re quiet for a while, and she gets up to start unpacking. Meanwhile, I haven’t made a dent in my luggage. “How was the rest of your break? How’re you feeling?” I ask. 

She shrugs, throwing certain clothes into the dirty hamper and hanging others up. 

“Just a shrug?” I ask. “That’s all I get?” 

She looks up at me and sighs. I notice that there are dark circles under her eyes that I’ve never seen there before, and she looks like she’s lost a little weight. Maybe it was the stress of all the holidays, because she usually looks healthier than this. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just tired and in a bad mood.” 

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” I ask, sliding off the bed so my feet touch the floor. “Because I can. For a little while, I get it. I don’t care.” 

“No…” she says, her back facing me. “Stay. I need to talk to you.” 

Something in the air shifts. I’m not sure what, but it does. My stomach feels queasy and my hands get clammy with nerves. I don’t like the tone of voice that she just used - low, scary, and serious. 

“What is it?” I ask, leaning back against the bed. I can barely stand to sit still while I feel like this, but I try and do my best.

“I wanted to wait until we were here to tell you,” she says. “In person.” 

I push myself back up to sit on her raised bed. I don’t think I can stand. I don’t know why she’s dragging this out, but my mouth is too dry to push her along. I don’t know what she’s about to say, but I have a feeling it’s not good. 

“Okay,” I say, warily. 

She rubs her temples, creases on her forehead as she stares at the floor. “I went to the doctor for my fever and headaches and stuff. They couldn’t really figure out what was wrong with me at first and just sent me home. This was like, just a little bit after you left. They told me to take ibuprofen if it made the migraines go away, and spend time in quiet, dark rooms.” She sighs. “So I did. But it didn’t help, the headaches just kept getting worse. And I started getting bruises, and these little red dots. I thought I was having an allergic reaction.” 

She pulls up her shirt and I see them dotting her belly. They look like sporadic chicken pox, but smaller. She turns around and I see weirdly shaped bruises mapping her back, mostly centered around her spine and the waist of her pants. 

“They wouldn’t heal,” she says. “And I didn’t know what they were from. And I kept losing weight, even though I wasn’t doing anything different. I wasn’t even eating as much as usual. So we went back to the doctor, a different one, and they did some blood tests.” She sighs. “We waited a while for them to come back, and they had us come in and discuss the results with a hematologist, which is-” 

“I know what a hematologist is,” I cut in, on edge. A blood doctor, basically.

“Right,” she says, shaking her head at herself. “Right. And… they told me that I have…” She grits her teeth and takes in a sharp breath as she looks off to the side. Her face scrunches up like it does when she’s about to cry, and when she opens her mouth, a spit bubble forms between her lips. “My blood tests came back with really high white blood cell count. Abnormally high, and they didn’t like that. So they did a ton more tests on me.” She opens up her elbows, straightens them out, and I can see all the marks from the needle pricks. “Jackson,” she says, her voice rising in pitch. “It’s not good.” 

I stand up off the bed and rush to her, taking her in my arms. She’s shaking, crying against me with her arms folded between our bodies. 

“It’s okay,” I murmur, my lips against her hair. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“It’s not,” she whimpers, trembling harder. She looks up at my face, eyelashes sticking together with the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Jackson,” she breathes. “I’m really sick.” 


	13. Chapter 13

**APRIL**

Acute myeloid leukemia. 

It’s a mouthful, so it’s a good thing I haven’t said it out loud. Not once, not yet. But looking at Jackson’s face now, his eyes glassed over with tears, I know I have explaining to do. 

My diagnosis is a blur. I don’t remember anything my doctor told me. All I know is that I was assigned a special oncologist who had salt-and-pepper hair and a piece of spinach between his front teeth. I don’t remember his name. I don’t remember him ever saying mine. 

He’s looking to transfer me here, to a hospital close by in Chicago. That way, I can get my treatment and still go to school. I can get my treatment and still live my normal life with my normal college and my normal boyfriend. My mom is still waiting to hear back on what hospitals and doctors are accepting new patients, in hopes that I can be one of them.

“What do you mean, really sick?” he asks. I notice that his voice is shaking. Everything in me wants to shield him from this, protect him from the news he doesn’t know yet. I don’t want to know it, and as of right now he’s still in the clear. He wouldn’t have to live with this information in his head.

But I know he won’t let me not tell him. That’s just the way he is. Jackson is Jackson, and no matter how small, he always wants to take my burden as his own. 

I lift my eyes to meet his and blink once. “I have cancer,” I state simply. The words taste sour in my mouth, and they don’t feel like they belong to me. Right now, I feel tired. That’s it. I don’t feel like I have cancer. How does having cancer even feel? Whatever it is, I don’t feel it. 

His mouth drops open. I take one of his hands in both of mine and lead him to the bed, where I tell him the little that I know so far. 

Acute myeloid leukemia. It started in my bone marrow and moved to my blood. I have too many white blood cells, which is bad, and they’re not maturing the way they’re supposed to but they keep forming. Because it’s acute, this means it spreads easily. Without treatment, it can go basically anywhere in my body. And that’s when it gets scary. I don’t know much about that yet. We’re trying to keep it from spreading, we’re trying to keep a hopeful outlook that it won’t. 

Symptoms go unnoticed by a lot of people. My oncologist told me that I likely have had this for at least 6 months, which has given the blast cells time to build up. This wasn’t optimum news. I could tell by the look on his face. I remember that much. 

One tear rolls down Jackson’s cheek and I reach to wipe it away. It’s warm when I slide it between my thumb and first finger. 

“So what happens now?” he asks, after I’m all done explaining. “How do we fight it?” 

I run my fingers over the veins on the tops of his hands. “I’m getting transferred to a hospital here,” I say. “When it goes through, that’s where I’ll get my chemo. It lasts for a week; I go in every day for a few hours and get my drugs through an IV. And they’ll give me prescriptions to try and bring my blood count back to normal, too. And after I go through a few rounds of chemo, I think they’ll do a biopsy. Or blood work, or something. I have a hard time remembering. But they’ll do something to see if the count is back to normal.” 

He clears his throat and sits up straighter. He wants to seem strong, I can see that. 

“My mom said she’d commute for my chemo,” I say. I roll the word ‘chemo’ around on my tongue. It feels foreign and strange, too. Chemo. It’s something you hear about in movies. You never think that it’ll happen to you. It seems unreal and far-away, but now it’s my life. Or it’s going to be my life very soon. “My doctor said it could be rough on my body.”

I picture the bald, round-headed kids from the St. Jude’s Hospital commercials and have a harrowing vision of myself among them. I’m officially a cancer patient. And unbeknownst to me, I have been for a while now. 

I have cancer. This is something I have to own now. It happened to me. It  _ is _ happening to me. 

“I can take you,” he says. “Moline is four hours away. She has to work. She doesn’t have to do that.” He holds my wrists. “Unless you want her here. Then… I mean, of course.” 

“You’d do that for me?” I ask, genuinely surprised. I know what chemo does to a person. Everyone does. We’ve all seen the movies. I hadn’t expected he’d wanted to see me in that state. 

“Of course I would,” he says, letting out a short, airy sigh. “Of course I would.” 

“I’ll tell her,” I say. “She was… she was worried about the travel. She didn’t say anything, she wanted to make me happy. But… I know she was.” 

He nods slowly as his eyes search my face. I wonder what they might be looking for. 

“I know I look different,” I say, shying away from him. “I know I don’t look pretty right now.” 

“You do,” he says, cupping my jaw in one hand. “I was just looking at your face. I haven’t seen it in so long.” He leans forward, gives me a chaste kiss, then presses his face into my hair. “I’m so glad to see you.” 

“I missed you,” I say, looping my arms over his shoulders. “When we heard, when we found out…” I shake my head as my throat clogs up. Only Libby knows the severity of what I have. We didn’t tell the two younger ones, because that’s a lot for them to handle. I’m their big sister. I’m supposed to be strong. They don’t need to know my weakness until I’m over it. I choke back sobs. “I wanted you.”

“I wish I could’ve been there,” he says, bending his neck and pressing slow kisses to the tops of my shoulders. “But I’m here now. And I’m not gonna leave you. I promise. I’m gonna stay right here. Through it all.” 

***

On the first day of classes, I stand in front of my full-length mirror and run my brush through my hair painstakingly. I stare at my reflection and the outfit I’ve chosen - skinny jeans, Ugg boots, and a dark green cardigan - and wonder how much longer I’ll be able to recognize my own body. 

I’m already skinnier. That comes from not being hungry, which my doctor said I have to ignore. I have to force myself to eat, but I haven’t been good at it. I tell myself to get better. I don’t want to waste away. 

I braid my hair to the side and feel around on my dresser for the clip Jackson gave me, all while keeping my eyes on the mirror. I find it and situate it at the base of my braid, where it’ll stick throughout the day. I turn my head to see it better and find myself smiling as it glints off the winter morning light shining in from the open blinds.

My first class is Vocal Seminar, where I’ll get to sing in a class for the first time here. I’m excited for it, but nervous too. I don’t feel like myself. I don’t want to give a bad first impression because I have something malignant on my mind. So I try and push it out. Today is for school, today is for myself. I don’t have to think about anything else but Vocal Seminar, my biology class that I have with Jackson in the afternoon, or his indoor soccer game tonight. Nothing else should be in my mind but those things. 

On my way to Vocal Seminar, I see him walking from the lounge with a banana in his hand, eating it while rubbing his eyes. He catches sight of me, though, and perks up instantly. 

“Hey,” he says, walking faster in my direction. “You headed off to your first class?” 

I nod. “Vocal Sem,” I say. 

“Nice,” he says, chewing. When he swallows, he asks, “How’re you feeling?” 

“Fine,” I say. “I’m great.” 

“Good,” he says, and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You sure? You need anything?” 

I shake my head. “I’m not an invalid, Jackson,” I say, pointing my finger at him half-jokingly. “So don’t go thinking that I am.” 

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m just checking on my girlfriend.” 

I give him another kiss, then head off to class. There’s a light dusting of snow coating the ground, but it’s not enough to collect. It’s only good enough for making footprints as I head to the School of Music, which is fine with me. I love winter, even though ours in the midwest can be brutal. 

I’m quiet in Vocal Sem, which I hadn’t wanted to be. I feel removed from the class, like I’m watching everyone else from the outside of a bubble, and only going through the motions when it’s my turn to move. Time goes slow, and I feel like I’m moving slow with it. I’m not in my own head. I’m thinking about the thing that I told myself I wouldn’t. I can’t help it. 

The day blurs by, and before I know it I’m sitting in the stands inside the indoor soccer field for Jackson’s first game. From where I sit, I can see that his jersey is dirt-stained and needs to be washed. I think it must have stayed on his dorm room floor for the entire break, and is dirty from the autumn game he last played. The one that he ditched to come see my recital. 

I smile softly thinking of the memory, then remind myself to pick new piano pieces from the books he got me. I need to start practicing for the winter concert. 

After halftime, my phone starts to ring. I see that it’s my mom, so I step out for a moment and take the call. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi, honey,” she says. “How are you feeling today?” 

I sit down on a bench, finding myself short of breath from the little walk I just took. I shake my head and let out a loud huff, annoyed at myself for becoming so affected. “Fine,” I say.

“How were classes?” she asks. 

“Good,” I say. 

“Did you get to see much of Jackson?” 

“I’m at his soccer game right now,” I say, glancing around. 

“It’s late,” Mom says. “You should be getting home soon, getting some rest. Remember, Duckie, that’s what Dr. Byers said. Rest is so important, along with a healthy diet and plenty of water. I know it sounds simple-” 

“I was there, mom,” I snap. “I remember what he said.” 

There’s a slight pause where I know I’ve hurt her feelings. But I can’t help it - I have a splitting headache all of a sudden and what I want most is to go home and sleep. But at the same time, I haven’t seen Jackson enough and I don’t want to leave his game. 

“I figured out your transfer,” Mom says, and I realize I’d been zoning in and out of our conversation. “I got you and your insurance information transferred to Northwestern Memorial. You’ll be with Dr. Janssen there. And your treatment starts next week, so I thought I’d drive in Sunday night and go with you on Monday morning.” 

“You don’t have to,” I say, elbows on my knees. “It’s a long drive, and Jackson said he could take me.” 

“Oh, no,” she says. “I wouldn’t make him do that. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“He said he wants to, mom,” I insist. “And I know you have to work. It’ll just be easier on everyone. And if I want you there for next time, I promise I’ll tell you. I will.” 

She takes in a deep breath. “Okay,” she says. “But only because I trust him. A lot. And I know you do, too.” 

“Good,” I say. She gives me the contact information of my new doctor and tells me to get some beauty rest tonight before another full day of classes tomorrow. When I hang up the phone, the game is over and Jackson is walking off the field with a soccer ball under his arm and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Hey,” I say, walking up to him. I reach up and pull my cardigan sleeve down, holding it in place with my fingers as I reach up to dab the sweat off his forehead. “My mom called. My chemo starts in a week. She said she’s okay with you taking me. It’s at Northwestern Memorial downtown,” I say. “Sorry I had to walk out. I didn’t realize the game would end so soon.”

We walk out of the arena with matching strides. “It’s all good,” he says. “Got our asses kicked. I’m kinda glad you didn’t see.” 

I chuckle to myself. “You’re still good with taking me to my treatment, aren’t you?” I ask. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “I meant what I said, April. I’m gonna be here for you.” 

That night when I get home, I’m exhausted. I sit on my bed and take my hair clip out, setting it gently on the nightstand next to my phone charger. I get up after a few minutes and go into the bathroom to wash my face, running a wet, sudsy washcloth over my skin with my eyes closed. 

When I pull away and open them into the mirror, though, I see that there’s blood dripping from my nose in a steady stream, trailing all the way down over my lips and under my chin. I make a surprised little sound and grab a handful of tissues that I press to it in attempts to stop the flow, but it doesn’t do much good. The blood just keeps coming faster.

I breathe through my mouth and pinch the bridge of my nose, leaning forward onto the counter. When I release my fingers, the blood pauses for a moment before spurting out again, dripping down onto the granite and making pink splotches in the sink. I hurry out to my room to find something else to staunch it with, only to see Jackson walk through the cracked-open door. 

“Hey,” he says. “Holy shit, what’s going on?” 

“I just have a nosebleed,” I say, tipping my head back. My eyes are burning like I’m about to cry. I’ve never had a nosebleed in my life, but my doctor said this might happen. I have a high white blood cell count, but a low platelet count. And platelets help with clotting, which is something that’s really not happening right now. I lower my chin and the blood starts again, little droplets go flying when I try to speak as they smack against my lips. “Help me,” I say. 

“Okay, come here, come here,” Jackson says, ushering me to the bed. He lays me down and hurries to the bathroom, then comes back with a clean, cold washcloth. First, he cleans my face up with it, then sits down and presses it against my nose. “I used to get bloody noses when I was little,” he says. “One time, when I was two, I had one in the back seat of the car. I was screaming my fuckin’ head off. And my mom got pulled over, right? The cop took one look at me in the back seat and thought she beat my face in.” He chuckles. “It took a little explaining on her part.” 

“Was everything okay?” I ask, my voice a bit muffled by the washcloth.

“Yeah,” he says. “Everything was okay. And I know how to handle them now. The cold helps. And lying down helps, too. So it doesn’t drip everywhere and you don’t look like a rogue vampire.” 

We stay there on the bed for a long time - him sitting, me laying. He looks down at my face and strokes my arm with his fingertips, only pulling the washcloth away to check after it’s been long enough. 

“I think it stopped,” he says. His voice sounds confident, but the look in his eyes tells me differently. That scared him. It scared me, too, but it’s my body. He must feel helpless. 

I touch my nose gently, watching my fingers come back clean. “Good,” I say. “Thank you.” 

He nods and goes to throw the soiled washcloth in the dirty hamper. 

“Do you wanna lay down next to me?” I ask. 

He looks over his shoulder. “Do you want me to?” he says.

I squint my eyes in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“I don’t know,” he says, standing an awkward distance away. “I… I don’t know.” 

“I want you close to me,” I say, nestling under the covers and lifting them for him. “We’ve been waiting and waiting to get back in this bed. Now, get in here before I have to force you.” 

He smiles softly and crawls under the covers with me, turning on his side so our noses are almost touching. His eyes aren’t closed, but he’s looking down so I can see the crescent of his eyelashes almost touching the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, and I can’t resist. I take one finger and run it over the bridge of his nose, and he flinches at my unexpected touch. 

“Are you okay?” I ask. 

I know he’s not. I know he’s shaken and scared. So am I. But he nods slightly anyway. 

“Want me to sing?” I ask. 

He looks up at me and floors me with those green eyes. “You’re tired,” he says. 

“I want to sing for you,” I say. “I haven’t in a long time.” I swipe my hand over his head and rest it on the back of his neck. “Please let me.”

He blinks once, one eyebrow creating a tiny crease on his forehead as she nods his head yes. 

I clear my throat and pick a Norah Jones song. “ _ It’s not the pale moon that excites me… that thrills and delights me… oh no, it’s just the nearness of you… it isn’t your sweet conversation that brings this sensation, oh no… it’s just the nearness of you. When you’re in my arms… and I feel you so close to me, all my wildest dreams came true. _ ”

He lets out a long sigh as I continue to sing, and I caress his cheek with the backs of my knuckles and watch him fall asleep. Once his eyes are fully closed and his breaths come evenly, I extend my neck and give him a lasting kiss on the forehead, then tuck my head under his chin to fall asleep myself. 

***

When the following Monday comes, I’m so nervous that I can barely function. I had to do something that I really didn’t like doing, which was contacting the Dean of Students and telling them in detail about my condition and why I’d be missing so much class. I have to bring back a valid doctor’s note after my first chemo appointment, but after they have that, all of my absences will be excused and my work schedule will be different than that of my classmates.

I don’t like that. I don’t like being the different one going at a different pace than everyone. I want to keep up and learn the same things they are at the same time. 

“That’s not possible, though,” Jackson says, as we discuss it on the Red Line. We’re on the way to Northwestern Memorial and my stomach is in knots. “You’re going through so much more than anyone else. It wouldn’t be fair to you.” 

I look out the window, even though we’re underground. The only thing I see is my reflection, which I can barely recognize in the distorted plexiglass. 

“I know,” I say. “Rationally, I know that. But I still don’t like the way it feels. It feels like I’m not getting the real college experience.” 

“Your experience is just different,” he says, staring ahead. It’s 9:30am - my appointment is at noon and we have to show up early for blood work - and we’re between rushes. There aren’t many other people on the train but us.

I stay quiet. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want it to be happening, and when I say it out loud it just makes it all the more real.

When we get to the hospital, I duck my chin to my chest and cross my arms tight. Jackson rests his hand on my opposite hip and keeps me close as we walk inside, even though my body language is closed off. We sign in with the front desk on the oncology floor, and don’t end up sitting in the waiting room for very long.

“You have to get blood taken first, right?” I ask. 

The nurse leading us through a hallway answers for me. “It’s just to make sure she’s still a good candidate for chemo,” she says. “We like to make sure. I’ll take some blood and send it to the lab, and it shouldn’t take long to get your results. When we get them back, we’ll do some vital signs and go from there. Sound good, Miss April?”

I stare at the floor, but nod. I give her my elbow when she asks for it and stay quiet. 

Jackson takes my hand. “You okay?” he asks. 

I give him a nod, but not anything more. 

When my blood is taken back, we sit in another waiting room and bide our time. Jackson picks up a Highlights magazine after catching the hint that I don’t want to talk, and flips through it.

“Damn, all the word searches are already done,” he says. “I’ll make up new words and make you find them. How about… luldo? Can you find that?” 

I glance over at him, then down at the page. It takes me two seconds to reach over and point out his nonsense word. 

He closes the magazine. “No fun. You’re too good,” he says. 

That gets a small smile out of me, and he leans over to softly kiss my cheek. I press into him, then lay my head on his shoulder as he rests his arm along the back of my chair. I feel his lips on the top of my head, moving as he speaks. “It’s okay to be scared, you know,” he says. 

“I know,” I say quietly.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says. “Just know that I got you.”

I nod a little bit, resting a hand on his thigh. We both look up when we hear my name called, and see that same nurse standing in the hallway opening. When we reach her, she looks at her clipboard as she says, “Your blood came back a good match for chemo, just like the results that were sent to us from your hospital back home. So everything is looking good, and your oncologist is putting together your chemo cocktail for you right now while I get your vitals, alright?” 

I pinch my lips and nod. 

“Alright,” she says, trying too hard to be comforting. “Let’s get you up on the scale so I can get your weight…” 

I step on the scale and face away from it. I don’t want to know the number. 

“Alright, thank you, Miss April. If I could just get you to step into Room 4 and we’ll do the rest of the good stuff so I can send you on your way.”

She gets all my vital signs, going through the motions like the professional she is. Once she’s done typing like mad on the computer, she turns her spinning chair to face us and says, “Everything is looking good. I’m gonna go ahead and take you to your chemo room now, okay? It’s right down this hallway.”

We follow her again and Jackson takes my hand. His grip is warm, but sweaty. I’m sure mine is as cold as ice. 

“Dr. Janssen will be right in with you,” the nurse says. I realize that I never caught her name, and tell myself to do it next time. Right now, my mind is too clouded. “Shouldn’t be too long of a wait.”

Jackson and I sit in anxious silence after the nurse leaves. I sit down in a reclining chair by the window, looking out to see that the sky is a stark white. “Maybe it’ll snow,” I say, squinting against the brightness.

“Maybe,” Jackson says, sitting down in the chair next to mine. 

There’s a TV mounted on the wall, a stack of thick blankets on a table, and a menu. I’m assuming I’ll be here during lunchtime, but I can guarantee I won’t be hungry.

I’m sitting down when the doctor comes in, and her quick entrance makes both me and Jackson jump a little bit. “Hello,” she says, setting an armful of supplies down. “I’m Dr. Janssen. You must be April?” 

I extend my hand and she shakes it. “And this is my boyfriend, Jackson,” I say, tipping my head towards him. Dr. Janssen shakes his hand, too. 

She tells me that I’ll get a chemo treatment every day this week and once this round is done, we’ll take a break and come back in two weeks. After a cycle of treatments like this, we’ll do more blood work and see how my cell counts or doing and if it’s working. She says she’s hopeful that it will, because I’m young and young people usually recover fast and have a quicker way of bouncing back. I’d have an easier time believing her if I didn’t feel so winded from just listening to her explain all this. 

She tells me what’s going into my IV - first the pre-chemo drugs, then the actual chemo drugs. Pre-chemo has steroids and anti-anxiety medications, and they’ll go for about thirty minutes before the actual drugs kick in. She explains all this so I can understand it - going through the procedure because it’s my first time. She’s not going to be the one actually doing it, a nurse will, but it’s nice to see the face who’s behind all of my important medical decisions. 

When the nurse comes in to insert my IV, my whole body is clammy and shaky. Jackson holds my hand as this nurse makes pleasant small talk with me that I can’t reciprocate. I cringe when the needle goes in and she tells me that  _ it wasn’t that bad, was it _ ? I don’t answer her. This is all that bad. 

Saline solution gets flushed through the IV first, then pre-chemo. When the real drugs start, my eyelids are heavy and I feel like I might fall asleep at any moment. 

“Do you have any questions for me?” the oncology nurse asks. 

I part my lips and only a small sound comes out, so I clear my throat. “My hair,” I croak. “Will I lose it?” 

She looks at me with sad eyes. I know her answer before she speaks. “You might,” she says. “Everyone reacts to the drugs differently. But we have beautiful scarves and hats in our gift shop downstairs, if you do react that way.” 

When she leaves, my eyes grow hot as I stare down at the insertion point. My vision blurs with tears, but I sniffle in and shake my head roughly to will myself not to start crying. 

“You can cry,” Jackson says softly. 

I shake my head again. 

“Maybe you won’t lose it,” he says. “Maybe you’ll be one of the people who don’t.” 

Everyone is so good at being hopeful. But all the people who are offering me these words of hope aren’t the ones sitting in this green reclining chair, with cell-killing drugs being administered into their arm. 

“I don’t know,” I say, and turn my head to look out the window. These drugs will pump through my system for four hours today and the rest of this week. I’m scared of how they’ll make me feel, but the anti-anxiety meds are probably helping with my nerves about that. I feel numb now as I watch the world happen beyond this window, where everyone else is going about their lives even though mine has come to a screeching halt. 

Jackson turns on the TV, which is full of crappy daytime soap operas. He keeps it on The Bold and the Beautiful, which earns him an eyeroll from me.

“Ah, the Forrester family,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Gotta love ‘em.”

I give him a look and try not to move my arms. I’m scared I’ll do something to jostle the needles. “I’ve never seen this show before,” I say. 

“You’re missing out,” he says. “My mom is a big fan. I know way too much about it.” He crosses an ankle over his knee. “I remember when Stephen got hit by a car. Our house was in turmoil for a week.”

I snort. “You’re stupid.” 

“Probably,” he says, then glances at the entrypoint in my arm. “How is it?” 

I look down at it, too. “It’s fine,” I say. “I’m sleepy.” 

“Go to sleep, then,” he says. “I’ll be right here, watching my story.” 

I rest my head back on the little pillow on the chair and close my eyes. “Don’t leave,” I say. 

“I won’t,” he says. “I promise. Pretty soon, it’ll be all over. And you’ll feel so much better. So just close your eyes.” 

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then try to forget what’s coursing through my bloodstream right now. I end up falling asleep easier than I thought I would, and I’m not sure how much time has passed when I wake up. I blink my eyes to orient myself, finding my thoughts foggy and hard to muddle through. I jut my chin out and concentrate on Jackson as he comes into focus to see that he’s fallen asleep too, sitting up watching whatever is on TV now. I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it’s almost 4pm. I slept through almost my whole treatment, which is great. It’s what I hoped I would do. 

I get pushed out of the hospital in a wheelchair, then we wait for our Uber in the taxi lane. I feel weak and lethargic, and the entry points in my arms are achey. I have a big headache and my stomach feels queasy; every bump that my wheelchair hits on the way out causes me to wince and squeeze my eyes shut tight. 

“You’ll be feeling pretty sensitive for a while,” my nurse says. “Get home, try and eat something, and get lots of rest. And we’ll see you back here tomorrow, okay?”

I do my best at a nod, and Jackson places a comforting hand on my shoulder. When our car gets here, he helps me into it and sits next to me, buckling my seatbelt for me. I don’t like feeling incompetent, but it takes so much energy to do even the smallest thing. 

My breath comes in shaky gusts as we cruise down Lakeshore Drive. I grit my teeth and squeeze my hands into fists, hearing small whimpers come out of me as we zoom down the road. I can feel Jackson’s worried eyes on me, but he doesn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do, either. All I want to do is be at home, in my bed. 

When I get there, though, I still feel just as bad. Jackson helps me sit down and bends to take off my shoes, and I cover my face with my hands. “Will it always feel like this?” I ask. 

He cranes his neck to look at me, and I start to cry. “Oh, baby,” he says, forgetting my shoes and getting on the bed with me to pull me onto his lap. He wraps his arms around me and I fold myself into his chest and sob softly, my tears dripping onto his t-shirt. “I’m so sorry.” 

I don’t have anything to say. I just cry. I know my mom wants me to call her and tell her how everything went, but I don’t have the energy right now. By the way I feel, I don’t know if I ever will again. 

“Can you call my mom?” I ask, sniffling. “I just wanna go to sleep.”

It’s not even 6pm, but I know that I’ll sleep until tomorrow morning. If I had the choice, I’d sleep for a lot longer than that. 

I hear Jackson on the phone talking in hushed tones as I brush my teeth. I notice some redness on my toothbrush, so I bare my teeth at my reflection and see that my gums are bleeding. I cover them with my lips and look down, not wanting to see anything more. My body is falling apart. And it feels like the chemo is making me worse instead of better, even though today was only my first day. It’s going to keep ripping me to shreds. 

When I go back into my room, Jackson is off the phone. 

“What did she say?” I ask, holding the footboard of my bed for support. 

“She said…” he begins. “That she’s sorry. And she wants to talk to you, whenever you’re up for it. Not much more than that.” 

“Oh,” I say. “I-” 

I cut myself off because of a lurch in my stomach. I double over slightly and scrunch up my face, willing it to pass, but it doesn’t. I have no time to move anywhere before I throw up all over the carpet in front of me, and instantly start to cry because of it. 

I press my hands to the sides of my head and breathe heavily. “I’m sorry,” I sob, shoulders heaving. “I’ll get it, I-I’m sorry…” 

“No, no, no,” Jackson says, standing up and rushing over. “You sit down. I’ll get this.” 

I don’t fight him. I walk as best I can to the bed, and he disappears into the bathroom only to come back out with a mop bucket. “Just in case,” he says, then gets to work on cleaning up my stain. Luckily, I barely ate anything all day, so it’s mostly bile. 

My eyes are still streaming tears when he finishes, and I throw up again in the bucket. I clench the sides so hard that my knuckles turn white, and my breath comes out in rattling gasps. 

He hurries to my side and rubs my back, pulling my hair away from my shoulders. “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he says. “The doctor said this might be a side effect. You’re okay. Just breathe. It’ll pass.”

He rubs my back as my throat tightens, threatening another round. I press my lips together and try to force it away, but it persists and I spit up what little I have left into the bucket. My eyes dart to him self-consciously. I hate that he’s seeing me like this. I hate that I’m like this at all. I’m 18. I shouldn’t be this sick. It’s not fair. My body is destroying itself. I didn’t ask for this. Why would God do this to me? 

I can hear myself breathing loudly. Jackson goes into the bathroom and comes out with a warm, damp washcloth that he wipes my face with and I let him, like a child. The urge to throw up again is going away, so I set the bucket down and stare at the floor, the scent of cleaning products that Jackson used on the stain assaulting my nose. 

“I’m sorry,” I say again, eyes flashing to him before centering on my knees.

“Why are you saying that?” he asks, petting my hair back and gathering it into a ponytail shape with his hand. 

“Because I threw up,” I say. “And you have to deal with it.” 

“I don’t care,” he says. “I already told you a million times. I’m going to take care of you. We’re gonna get you through this, okay?” 

I run my tongue over my teeth, tasting the metallic taste of the blood that’s still lingering. “Why is this happening to me?” I ask. 

I know he doesn’t have an answer. I don’t expect him to have one. It’s not really a question that I expect a response to. 

We’re silent for a long time, and completely still. The only movement is Jackson’s hand through my hair, finger-combing it back from my face. After a few long minutes pass, he takes my chin and has me look at him, and his eyes are round and earnest. “Hey,” he says. “You’re strong. You’re the strongest, most stubborn, persistent person I know. Like when you wanna learn a new piano piece, you don’t give up. Not even for a second. And I can’t help you when you’re doing that, but I can help you through this. You’re not alone. I know it might feel like it, but I promise… you’re not.” 

My lower lip trembles as I keep my eyes on his face. “I feel like…” I say, voice wobbling. “I just feel like this might be stronger than me.” 

He shakes his head adamantly. “No. No. You’re gonna live a long life. You’re gonna grow up, get married, be whatever you wanna be, and have lots of babies. You’re gonna die an old lady, warm in your bed. You’re gonna live the most beautiful life. Don’t let this stupid ass disease take that away from you.” 

His words ignite the tiniest spark of hope within my chest, but I don’t know if it’s safe to hold onto. He can’t feel the way my body feels, nor would I want him to. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, and I have to go back and do it all again tomorrow. 

“Okay,” I say, agreeing anyway. I know that’s what he wants to hear. “But I want you to be a part of that beautiful life, too,” I say, holding onto his wrist. “I want lots of babies… with you.” 

He smiles and it lights up his whole face, then he leans in for a kiss. I turn my head away, though. 

“You don’t wanna kiss me right now,” I say, forlornly. 

“I always wanna kiss you,” he says, and turns my head back to press his lips to mine. He kisses me once, twice, three times, and breaks away with a soft smacking sound. He holds eye contact for a long time, his eyes flitting to either of mine, as the grin slips off of his mouth. “April,” he says. 

“Yeah?” I answer. 

He holds my face between his hands. “I love you,” he says, soft and clear. “I’m in love with you.”

My heart feels like it cracks open in two so everything spills out. I cover his hands with my own, my fingers trailing gently over his skin, and lean my face against his palm. “You do?” I ask. 

He nods firmly, not unsure in his statement whatsoever. 

I close the space between us and kiss him again, lingering for a while this time. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself closer, and he rests his hands on either side of my waist. When I pull away, I rub the tip of my nose against his and blink right into his eyes.

“I love you, too,” I say. “Jackson, I love you so, so much.”

His eyes sparkle, that’s the only way I know to describe it. I recline to lay on my back and he lays to the side of me, one hand on my neck as he opens his mouth against mine and kisses me with all he’s got.

The light and happy feeling in my chest does not belong there, I know that. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m hoping forever. I have cancer, and today I had poisonous drugs injected into my body. But alongside that, I also have Jackson, my best friend, right next to me. Kissing me. Loving me. 

When we finally stop making out long enough to fall asleep, we face each other with our arms wrapped around one another’s bodies. He has one arm under my shirt, halfway up my back, and the other resting under my head to act as my pillow. I’m using one finger to gently press against each and every one of the freckles across the apples of his cheeks, counting them silently as he watches me. 

“I love you,” he whispers, and my eyes lift to meet his. “You are magic, you know that?” 

I blush and direct my eyes back to his freckles. I’m getting tempted to close my eyes, so I ask him, “Play with my hair?” 

He does, of course. He threads his fingers through it and pets it away from my face, which makes a warm feeling soak through my whole body. After a few minutes of that, though, he pulls away and makes a weird sound. I open my eyes, concerned, and say, “What?”

He doesn’t need to answer me. I see it in his hand - the first lock. It’s not that much, but it’s enough to be noticeable, my hair - detached - between his fingers. 

I gasp and hold my head. I didn’t know it would be this soon, I never expected it to happen to me. I never expected any of this to happen to me, but I never thought I’d be one to lose my hair. 

“It’s going already,” I say. “My hair. It’s going away.” 

I roll over onto my back and feel tears leak out of the sides of my eyes, then drip down into my ears. 

“I’m sorry,” Jackson whispers, not knowing else to say. There really isn’t anything else he can say. 

I open my eyes to look into his and find impeccable sadness there. I sniffle and wipe my tears, but new ones take their places quickly. 

“Do you want me to sing?” he asks. 

I let out a sad-sounding little chuckle. He knows that, when he’s sick or hurting, I always offer to sing to make him feel better. And now he’s doing it for me. 

I nod, blinking my creaky eyes. 

At first, I don’t recognize what he’s singing because he’s self-conscious and quiet. But after a few beats, I recognize an Ed Sheeran song. 

“ _ I found a love for me, darlin’ just dive right in, follow my lead. I found a girl beautiful and sweet. I never knew you were the someone waiting for me … ‘cause we were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was, I will not give you up this time… darlin’ just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own, and in your eyes you’re holding mine… _ ” 

I hiccup and take in a deep breath after a big sob, and he presses the side of his face to mine as he sings, the words tumbling right into my ear. I lean against him, depending on him wholly, whimpering into his chest as I try to stop crying. 

“I love you,” I peep. “Through all this, I love you.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**JACKSON**

On Friday night after her chemo is done for the week, April is shaking on her bed after we’ve just gotten back to her dorm. 

“Do you want a blanket?” I ask, reaching into her closet. 

She doesn’t answer me. She just gingerly wraps her arms around herself and continues to violently tremble. I can’t stand to watch her. 

“Let me get a bath going for you,” I say. “That’ll warm you up. Does that sound good?” 

She looks up to meet my eyes and I get enough of an answer from that alone. I walk into the bathroom and lock the other door so her suitemates don’t come in. They don’t know yet. I don’t think she wants them to know; she’s been avoiding them. 

I watch the water fill up the tub and make sure it’s hot enough. Once it’s full, I go get April and help her into the bathroom with my arms around her bony shoulders. “Do you wanna do it on your own, or…?” I ask. I don’t want to make her feel incapacitated, but I still want to do everything I can. I’m not quite sure where that boundary is. 

She lifts her arms above her head and avoids my gaze, telling me without words what she needs. There are dark blue circles under her eyes - she hasn’t been sleeping well. I always tell her to wake me up, but she never does. I’ve taken to lying there with my eyes open, waiting for a sign that she’s up, too. Most of time, we don’t talk, we just lie there together in solid silence and I fall back to sleep first. 

I pull her shirt off and watch goosebumps rise up on her skin, and she tucks her arms into her chest as she kicks her way out of her drawstring sweatpants. She hasn’t said much today; I know she’s exhausted. Every night this week, her anxiety would get worse as she thought about what was to come the next day. I had no idea what I could do to help her. 

I guide her into the water and she sinks beneath the surface so her head is the only thing above it. Her chin touches the water just barely, and she wraps her arms around her knees to rest her cheek against them. 

“Does it feel nice?” I ask, reaching to pet her hair then pulling my hand away.  I don’t touch her hair anymore. It makes the fallout worse. 

“Warm,” she says. She lets out a rattling breath and closes her eyes. As I watch her face, her mouth turns down in a frown and wrinkles appear on her forehead. “Jackson,” she says, and her voice is waterlogged.

“What, baby?” I say. 

“I just…” she whimpers. “I just miss being with you.  _ With  _ you.” 

I nod.

“I want to have sex with you,” she says, her voice small and weak. “I want to be close with you like that and… and I can’t.” 

I push myself up onto my knees and press my lips slowly to her dewy shoulder as I tighten my arms around her. “It won’t be long until you start feeling better,” I say. “That’s what Dr. Janssen’s been saying. You’ll feel more like yourself in a little bit. And then we don’t ever have to leave that bed, you can do whatever you want to me. Or have me do whatever you want to you. Anything.” I offer her a smile, and she opens her eyes but doesn’t reciprocate. “I love you,” I say encouragingly. 

She looks down at the water and blinks. “I don’t feel like me,” she says. “I just want to feel like me.” She looks down at the water and somehow pulls her knees even closer. “You don’t love this me.” 

“Yes, I do,” I say insistently. “I love every version of you.”

She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t,” she says.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” I say. As the days have gone by this week, it’s gotten harder and harder to help her feel hopeful. I don’t know what else to say anymore; I feel cheesy when I try to be inspirational. I know it doesn’t work. But sitting here silent doesn’t feel like it’s doing much of anything, either. I just want her to know that I care and I’m not going anywhere.

She picks up her head and switches cheeks to face the other way. 

“Want me to wash your hair?” I ask. It needs it. She hasn’t washed it since Tuesday, and though she’s afraid of what might happen, it’s past the point of greasy. 

I see her nod slightly and pull her shampoo and conditioner off the shelves above us. I pour a cupful of water over her head to get it wet, then start massaging the shampoo into her scalp. She stays still - her only movement being the subtle rise and fall of her bony back. 

I take my time and bathe her in silence. After I’m done rinsing out the conditioner, I look down at the water surrounding her and see tendrils of red hair floating around her. It’s not like after a usual shower - broken and few and far between. These strands are long and wound together, clumps that have fallen out all at once. Coating the tub. 

She sees them, too. She sits up with her hands capping her knees and her eyes flit to the water surrounding her, then she suddenly stands up out of it which causes a sudden splash.

She stands naked in the middle of the water, arms wrapped around herself. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but I hand her a white towel anyway so she doesn’t start shivering. I help her back onto the rug, and she clutches at me for dear life. 

“I want it off,” she says, and as she speaks I can see bald spots on her head that have become very visible. 

“What?” I ask, lowering my eyebrows.

“My hair,” she states. “All of it. I don’t want to watch it fall out anymore.” She’s gripping the towel so tight that her knuckles are straining and turning white. “I want it gone.” 

I stare at her for a long while. “You… you’re sure?” I ask. 

She nods. 

“April, this is big, though,” I say. “I don’t want you to change your mind, once it’s gone, it’s-”

“It’s going anyway,” she says, eyes big and round. “I don’t want to sit here and wait. I just…” She sighs. “I want to be in control of something.”

I study her face, then lift my hand to stroke the apple of her cheek with my thumb. “Okay,” I say, not fighting anymore. If it’s what she wants, it’s her body. And she’s right. She should have control. “Want me to go get my razor?” 

“Please.” 

I walk into my room to find Mark at his desk, doing something I’ve never seen him do before. Homework.

“Hey,” he says, briefly looking up. “Haven’t seen you in about ten thousand damn years.” 

“Yeah,” I say, digging in a big Tupperware container that was stored under my bed. 

“How’ve you been, you piece of shit?” 

I feel a frown grow on my face. April hasn’t told anyone, so it’s not my place to tell anyone for her. “Uh, fine,” I lie. 

“You sound like I just shot your fuckin’ dog, dude.”

I look over my shoulder to find him watching me. “Well, things have been a little rough,” I admit. 

“How so?” he says. “Is it your girl?” 

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” I say, finding the razor and gathering the wire in my hand. “No offense.” 

“None taken,” he says, shrugging. “But one thing, is she okay? Like… she’s good, right? Haven’t seen her a single time since we got back to this hellhole.” 

“She…” I begin, but my voice dies off as I picture her in her towel, pale and vulnerable. “She will be, yeah.” 

When I get back into April’s room, she’s dressed in thermal pajamas with fuzzy socks on, her wet hair combed back from her face to trail down her back. She’s laid a towel out on her bed and is sitting cross-legged in the middle of it, faced away from the door. She’s leaning forward, her shoulders rounded and deflated, as I close the room up behind me. 

I sit behind her and plug the razor into the wall after making sure that it’s sharp enough. The last time I used this, I was cutting my own hair. I’m not that good, but it doesn’t take much skill to just take it all off. 

“You’re sure, right?” I ask, one last time. 

“Yeah,” she mutters, and I notice her shoulders tense when I flick the razor on. The buzzing is loud and brash, I know it must be even worse right by her ears, but I don’t rush. I don’t want to nick her skin at all. 

The first stroke I make is long and concise, right down the side of her head. The skin underneath is marble-pale and nearly translucent, like a newborn baby’s. I let out a long breath from my nose and shut my eyes, steeling myself to be able to do the rest of this. She’s the one with cancer. I’m here to be her support system. 

It takes a long time for me to get all of the hair off. It lands in sections down on the towel, and when I’m finished, she looks smaller than ever. I can’t help but stare down at all that I’ve just shaved off and pick up a piece, running it between my fingers.

“It’s gone,” I say, and she swivels around to look at me, then touches her very bare head. “I finally have more hair than you.” I smile, in hopes of getting her to mirror it. She doesn’t. 

She keeps her hands on her scalp and I wonder if she regrets it. She keeps touching the new, foreign part of her body, then meets my eyes. “It’s really gone,” she whimpers, tugging on her earlobes. “Jackson,” she rasps. “I’m bald and I have cancer.”

I stand up from the bed and walk to her desk, where I set down my stuff earlier. I pull out my winter hat, which is black, white, blue and red with a D for DePaul on the front and a pompom on the top. 

“Wear this,” I say. “It’ll keep your head warm.” I slip it on her and she lets me, then reaches up and touches it. “You look great, DePaul fan,” I say.

She looks down at the hair surrounding her and gathers it in her hands, balling it up so she can’t see it anymore as she walks to her trash can. She throws it in, and folds up the towel to throw it in her hamper. When she comes back, all the evidence of what had been on her head before is gone. 

“People are gonna talk now,” she says. “I know they will.” 

“Of course they will,” I say. “People are people. But you don’t have to say shit to them if you don’t want to. That part’s up to you.” 

“People will feel sorry for me,” she mumbles, eyes towards the floor. “They won’t treat me the same.” 

I don’t have any words for that one, because I know she’s right. When someone is outwardly sick, they get babied. Condescended. Things handed to them instead of having to work for them. And I know April, and that’s not the way she works.

“You’ll just have to prove them wrong,” I say. “Because you’re a badass, cancer or not. Don’t let people forget that.” 

***

After her hair is gone, somehow April is happier. I don’t ask her to explain, because she might not even know why, but she is. The next week, while I’m playing a game, I hear a familiar shriek and look up to see her in the stands, DePaul hat on. My face breaks out in a wild grin. When I’d left, she was taking a nap and I thought she would be gone for a few more hours. But slowly, she’s been getting her energy back. 

It makes me think that the chemo is working.

I trot to the sidelines once we win and pick her up off the ground. She smiles and squeals, wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me full on the mouth.

“Did I surprise you?” she asks, her forehead pressed to mine. 

“You really did,” I say, finally setting her down. I hold her jaw in my hands and kiss her again lightly, pressing my lips to hers over and over. She smells amazing, like lotion and some fruity flavor of Chapstick. “I think we won because you were here. You’re my lucky charm.” 

She giggles and leans against my side as we walk. 

“I was gonna go practice piano,” she says. “When I woke up from my nap, I picked out my first song from the book you gave me. Wanna come with?” 

“Wanna come with,” I repeat. “Duh. Of course I wanna come with.” 

In the practice room, she sits down on the bench and adjusts her hat before pulling the thick book of sheet music out. “What’d you pick?” I ask. 

“It’s from Chopin’s 24 Preludes,” she says, flipping through. “Sostenuto ‘Raindrop.’ I think you’ll like it. Listen. Well, I’m not very good at it yet, just so you know. I haven’t run it through, just looked at it. This is just my first time, so you-” 

“Just play it, piano girl,” I say, cutting her off. “No more talky.” 

She snorts and lays her fingers over the keys, squinting at the music before she begins. She’s not as confident as she was with her other pieces, but I know she’ll get there. She stumbles over the notes every now and then, worrying over what she’s gotten wrong, but she pushes through. I watch her lose herself in the music towards the middle, smiling to herself as she starts to get the hang of things. I love that stage. 

When she’s done, she lifts her hands away. “So?” she says. “Do you think it’ll be good?” 

I kiss her on the cheek. “It’s already good.” 

“You’re deaf then,” she says, swiping her fingertips over the white keys without making any sound. I turn towards her on the bench and wrap my arms around her waist, moving my head so I can go lower and kiss her neck. “Jackson…” she trails off.

“Yeah?” I answer, lips moving on her skin. 

She pushes me away by my chest. “Not now.” 

“Aw, come on,” I say. “Why?” 

She gives me a wide-eyed stare. “We can’t have sex in a  _ public  _ practice room.” 

I chuckle to myself. “Nobody said anything about sex,” I say. “I just wanna make out with my extremely hot, extremely talented girlfriend. That’s all. And she won’t let me.” 

She rolls her eyes and - maybe subconsciously - touches her hat. “Well, maybe I  _ want _ it to lead somewhere,” she says, turning her attention back to the sheet music. 

“Now we’re talkin’,” I say. “So… can we go? Back to our room? Like… preferably now?” 

She cracks up. “No!” she says. “We’re not done. You need your lesson.” 

“Didn’t bring my book,” I say. “Too bad, so sad. Looks like we gotta leave now.”

“Not too bad,” she says, digging in her music bag. “Because I did. Sit down, city boy, and get ready to learn from the master.” 

I watch her smile to herself and feel my body buzz with something unknown to me. I have no idea what the feeling is, but it’s warm and inviting. I sit down next to her again as she smoothes out my book, opening it to the first page, which is ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider.’

“A fuckin’ jam,” I say, plunking my hands down on the keyboard. 

She rolls her eyes and suppresses a grin. I’ve done my job. 

“Let me move your fingers,” she says. “Come here. Come here, you big idiot.” 

I give her hand my hand and she positions my fingers in the way they should be. She moves them along the notes and makes them play the song, somehow making music come out of me. 

“The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout… down came the rain and washed the spider out… out came the sun and dried up all the rain, and the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again,” she sings, helping me play it. 

“Nice,” I say, after the song is finished.

“Now you try,” she says, nodding me along. “Do you remember what keys?”

I look down at the mess of black and white keys that mean nothing to me. She’s tried to teach me the notes before, but the names never stick. “Um…” 

“I’ll help you again,” she says, laughing, as she takes my hand. I don’t complain. I love the way her soft, lithe fingers feel moving against my own. 

I think the reason I can’t learn the names of the keys is because I’m always too busy watching her face instead of watching what I’m doing. And I don’t think that will ever change. 

After I get a little better at playing the song by myself, she says it’s good enough for the day and lets us leave. I’ve never been more excited to get back to that room in my life - I practically run there. 

“Slow down!” she says, laughing and calling after me. I look back at her and realize that she really can’t go as fast as me anymore, even if I’m just being funny. I slow down and extend my arm for her, and she takes it and we walk side-by-side back to Clifton. 

I stop in the bathroom when we first get there, checking in the mirror to make sure I look okay. I don’t have anything on my face, but I don’t smell that great from the game I played this morning. 

“Hey, uh,” I call out from the cracked-open door. “Where’s your deodorant?”

She chuckles from the direction of the bed. “Why?” 

“No reason.”

“Jackson, if you’re sweaty from your game and think I care… I don’t,” she says. “Come out here and put your hands on your girlfriend.” 

I’ve never left a room faster than I leave that bathroom. When I come out, I smile at her where she lies on the bed wearing her hoodie, hat and pink underwear. I crawl up there with her and she pulls me on top of her body, wasting no time to start kissing me. 

I press my lips to her mouth, her cheeks, her temples, but when I get to her forehead I get a mouthful of fabric. “Can I?” I ask, and she knows what I mean. She nods, and I slip it off to expose her beautiful little cueball head. I smile and kiss it, covering the warm skin with my lips, and her arms relax over me.

“Jackson, I have to tell you something,” she says softly, trailing her fingertips up my bare back as she goes inside my shirt.

“What’s that,” I say, looking at her face. 

“I love you,” she says. “And I really, really mean that. I’ve never loved a boy in my life, not before you. But you…” She nods and smirks. “I love you.” 

I smile - I can’t help it. I smile so hard that my cheeks hurt. “God, I love you,” I say, face tucked to her neck. “And we gotta get this off.” 

Once her hoodie’s off, I spend a lot of time with my lips on her belly, kissing any open skin that I can. I open my mouth on her sternum, over her bra, then pull down the fabric without even bothering to take it all the way off.

“Jackson,” she says, giggling. “What’s the rush?” 

I smile against her, just slightly. “I missed you,” I say. “You’re so goddamn perfect. I missed these.” I press my face between her small breasts and she holds the back of my neck.

“You missed my boobs?” she asks, sounding amused. 

“Mm-hmm,” I say. 

“Let me at least get my bra off,” she says, somehow wriggling out of it. “There. Now come back.” 

I smirk up at her and scatter kisses along the round underside of the right one, and then hold it in my hand so I can cover the nipple with my lips and tongue. She moans softly as she watches me, and I say, “Sounds like you missed it, too.” 

She rolls her eyes and smiles a little bit, then winds one leg around the back of my thighs to rest her foot there. “Maybe a little,” she says, then yanks my shirt up over my head. 

She squeezes the backs of my arms as I move my lips over her breasts and between them, and still as I move down lower to her ribcage and belly button. I glance up at her when I get to the waistband of her underwear, then run my thumb over her scar right above it. 

“You know how I feel about this,” I say, covering it with my mouth and tracing the edges with my tongue. 

She writhes under me; that feeling drives her crazy. She’s extra sensitive there. 

“Does that feel good?” I ask, teasing her. 

She pops her hip up to move my mouth away, and then wriggles out of her underwear. “Grab a condom,” she says. “I don’t wanna wait anymore. I’m scared this feeling’s gonna go away and I’m not gonna want…” She reaches to the nightstand and pulls out a string of foil packages herself. “I just want you right now, okay?” she breathes. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, ripping the foil and putting the condom on. I press my lips to her cheek deliberately, then hold her hips steady as I push my way inside her. 

“Mmm,” she moans, arching her back and lifting up to meet me. “Just like that.”

Her voice is louder than she realizes, but I don’t care. I actually like it - that people probably know that we’re having sex in here. I love the fact that people know she’s mine. That I get her all to myself.

She gets increasingly louder, too. When she’s almost to her climax, she’s clutching at my shoulders and digging in with her fingernails, her eyes pinched shut tight as her mouth is open wide. “Oh, my god,” she cries. “Right there, right there, oh my god!” 

I snap my hips and know that I’ve done it, because she starts jerking erratically and making sounds I know she can’t control. I start to come as I watch her experience the effects of her orgasm, and bury my face in her neck as I do. She’s still making sounds, unable to quiet down, when there’s a bang on the conjoining bathroom door. 

“Oh, so you can have loud sex with your boyfriend, but you couldn’t say hi to your two favorite suitemates all last week?” Amelia calls, her voice just a bit muffled by the closed door.

April freezes when we hear the door handle jiggle, but luckily I remembered to lock it. 

“Once you’re decent, you better open up,” Amelia says. “You’re avoiding us!” 

I pull out of April and tie the condom off, throwing it away in the trash after. She lies there, spent, with her hands resting on her belly, staring up at the ceiling. I lie next to her and wrap an arm around her, covering one of her hands with my own as I kiss the bare skin of her head. 

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” I ask, ignoring Amelia’s insistent presence through the door. 

She chuckles, then snorts. “The Bald and the Beautiful,” she says, then turns to me with a light in her eyes. We both crack up laughing, leaning our faces towards each other as we do. 

“I’m still here!” Amelia whines, pounding on the door. “We exist, you know!” 

April and I make eye contact and she sighs as she reaches for the DePaul hat. She puts it on and makes sure it lays right, then pulls on her hoodie again. “I’m gonna have to tell them,” she says. “They’re gonna know… they’re gonna see.” 

“Do you want to?” I say. 

She shrugs. “I think so. Maybe.” 

“Well, only do it if you want to,” I say, and squeeze the pompom on top of her head. 

“Put your clothes on,” she says, climbing over me and off the bed. 

I let my head fall back to hit the pillow. “Ugh,” I say. “I hate it when you say that.” 

She leans against the bathroom door. “Um, Jackson’s putting his clothes on,” she says, adjusting the hat again. She can’t seem to get it right. “Then you can come in. I have to tell you guys something, okay?” 

“Why are you being so cryptic?” I can hear Addison’s voice now as I re-dress myself. 

“I’m not,” she says. “I just don’t want you to be freaked out.” 

“Freaked out?” Amelia says, then the handle jiggles again. “April, you’re being weird. Let us in. You’re scaring me!” 

“Just…” April lets out an agitated sigh. “Just give me a second.” She yanks on a pair of pajama pants and casts me a look, and I nod her along. She opens the door and I watch her fingers tighten on the edge of it, but I can’t see her face when she sees them on the other side. “...hey,” I hear. 

“What’s with the hat?” Amelia asks, making her way inside. She looks at me first. “Hey, Jackson. Any way you could possibly teach Owen whatever you’re doing to this girl? You’re apparently so good that she’s screaming our walls down. And he just can’t seem to find-” 

“Amy!” Addison scolds. “Not what we came in here for.”

Amelia rolls her eyes. “Fine. But like I said, what’s with the hat? And why have you been avoiding us? I’ve texted you like, a billion times. You leave me on read like we don’t live five feet away from each other. Like I can’t hear you peeing in the morning, or like I can’t hear your boyfriend fucking the shit out of you through the wall. What the hell is going on?” 

“Can you stop being mad for like one sec?” April says, just as a defensive feeling was rising in my gut. “Just give me a chance to explain. I… it’s not exactly easy for me to just come out and say what I have to tell you. No one really knows, except…” Her eyes flit to me. “Him.” 

“Shit. You’re pregnant,” Addison states. 

“What?!” April exclaims. “No! God, is that… no. I’m not freakin’... pregnant. No, Addie.” 

“Well, what is it then?” Amelia asks. “What else could it be? Do you have lice or something? Is that what the hat’s for?” 

April sighs. “I don’t have lice, would you stop? I’m trying to get this out. Just try not to freak out when I tell you, okay? But…” She looks between the two of them. “I have cancer.” There’s a short pause, then she lets out an incredulous sound. “It sounds so weird saying it out loud. But I have cancer. I… yeah. I’ve been avoiding you because I haven’t been feeling very good because of my chemo. I haven’t been myself, and…” 

“You’re doing chemo?” Addie asks, dumbfounded. 

“Well, not right now,” April says. “I’m off it for a couple weeks. I just got done with a round a few days ago. It lasts for a week, and…” She goes to tuck her hair behind her ears and realizes with a start that she can’t. She adjusts her hat instead. “It’s really hard.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” Addie asks. Amelia is silent, standing there and looking shocked. 

“The chemo is supposed to help,” April says. “I have to go back soon. It’s supposed to kill all of it, even though it makes me feel really sick. Then hopefully, it won’t come back.” 

“How did you find out?” Amelia asks. 

April tells them the story of the ins and outs of her diagnosis and I sit back and listen to her explain her disease. She does it remarkably well, without seeming scared or ashamed. 

“So… you lost all your hair?” Amelia says. 

Addie starts sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “First Alex. Now this,” she whimpers. “What is going on?” She covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. “Really, what the hell is going on?” 

“Hey, April’s not going anywhere,” I say, chiming in for the first time. “So don’t equate her to Alex.” 

“I’m not,” Addie snaps. “But it’s two bad things. How can I not think about them together?” She narrows her eyes at me. “I didn’t say she was gonna die, Jackson.” 

Amelia narrows her eyes at her friend. “Leave him alone,” she says. “He’s scared, too.” 

Addie turns and faces away from me, still drying her tears. “I know, I’m sorry,” she says quietly, then April wraps her arms around her in a big hug. “Oh, April,” Addie cries. “You feel so small.”

“I-I know that,” April stammers, maybe a little self-consciously. She looks at Amelia. “And to answer your question, yeah. My hair was going away. So I just asked Jackson to shave it all off.” 

Both of her friends’ eyes are wide with alarm. 

“It’s just better this way,” April says. “Just for all of it to go at once. It was better than waiting for it to go.” 

“I’ve been seeing…” Addie says. “Hair. In the bathroom, more than usual. I-I wondered, I didn’t know… I had no idea. I even got annoyed. I can’t believe I got annoyed when you… when you…” 

“Don’t worry about that now,” April says comfortingly. “It doesn’t matter.” 

There’s a short silence, followed by Amelia’s unsteady voice. “You’re gonna be okay, right?” she says. 

April sits down on the bed and sets one of her hands on my socked feet. “I’m trying,” she says.

***

Two weeks pass. One and a half of those weeks are full of April coming to my games, her head easily discernible from everyone else in that DePaul hat. Full of her bringing me to practice rooms to get better at Itsy Bitsy Spider and to listen to her practice Raindrop before she goes onto another one for her winter recital. Full of her smiling after she’s done with Vocal Sem for the day, because apparently her classmates in there don’t even notice her hat because they’re so impressed with her voice. I can’t say I blame them. 

The light hair on her arms has fallen off, and what’s on her legs is slowly following. And during the last half of the second week, when she knows chemo is looming, she gets quiet on me again. 

I wake up in the middle of Sunday night to the sound of April throwing up. I hadn’t gone to bed that long ago, I was up working on some impossible homework, so my brain is all disoriented. At first I think that it must be from her chemo before I realize that she doesn’t go in for her next round until tomorrow. 

“April?” I call out sleepily, getting out of bed and padding to the bathroom. I squint against the harsh fluorescent lighting and see her sitting by the toilet with her arm around it, her face pale and drawn. “What’s going on?” I ask, kneeling down beside her.

She’s shaking and not wearing the hat. The sight of her bare head catches me off guard for just a moment - it’s rare that I see her without that thing on lately. It keeps her warm and it makes her feel safe - not even so much as peach fuzz has tried to grow back. 

I smooth my hand over the skin and feel her breathing heavily, then she squeezes her eyes shut tight. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask. 

“I can’t go back,” she says, tucking her knees up closer to her body. “I don’t wanna go back to the hospital tomorrow.” 

“For chemo?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, I know. But it comes out before I have any say over it. 

“I don’t want to feel like that again,” she says, staring down at the half-clean tile floor. Her sense of smell has gotten so sensitive from the drugs that she can’t stand the cleaning products being used in here, so no one has cleaned in a while. “I can’t do it again.” 

I rub her back. “It’ll make you better,” I say. 

She hits her palm against the toilet seat so it makes a resounding clang. “I don’t see how making me feel horrible is making me better!” she exclaims. “It took my hair the first time. What’s it gonna take this time?” She wrings her hands. “I don’t want it.”

“You have to,” I say. “I’m sorry. 

She bites the middle of her top lip, then pinches them together. She lets a loud, short breath out of her nose that turns into powerful, shaking gusts of air. She parts her lips to say something and clenches her jaw, letting that same air out through her teeth. “I hate this,” she growls. “I hate all of this. It isn’t fair.” She throws her fists down on her thighs and hits herself hard. “Why did this have to happen to me?” 

She hits herself again and winces with pain, so I move her wrists away. She glares at me, then lurches forward to throw up into the toilet again. 

“I’m so nervous that I’m throwing up,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes have grown glassy now and she’s shaking her head. “You don’t have to stay here. You should go back to bed. You need your rest, you have dark circles.”

“No, I’m gonna stay right here with you,” I say. 

“You don’t have to,” she says. “I don’t know how much longer this will go on.” 

“I’m staying,” I say, leaning back against the wall with my legs straight out. 

Her eyes land on me for a moment before drifting off somewhere else as she zones into the world inside her head. I hate, more than anything, that I essentially have to sit here and watch this play out. There’s nothing I can do except be here, and most of the time that doesn’t feel like enough. 

A while later, she moves away from the toilet and rests her head on my lap. I stroke her smooth scalp and her eyelids flutter closed, but her face doesn’t relax. 

“Are you coming tomorrow?” she asks after a long silence. 

“Of course,” I say, running my palm over her forehead. 

She falls asleep there on the bathroom floor, so I pick her up easily and carry her to bed. To keep her warm, I slip the DePaul hat on her head and pull the covers up tight around her, tucking her in close to me while she stays asleep. 

In the morning, it’s snowing. April doesn’t say a word as she gets ready, but I watch her put on layer after layer so she doesn’t freeze. Without speaking, I hand her my blue DePaul sweatshirt with the red lettering and she pulls it over her head, hugging her arms close to her chest once it’s on. 

She stares out the window as we make our way to the hospital in an Uber. She didn’t want to be around people today, so we didn’t take public transportation. As we sit in the car, she still doesn’t speak. Her hands are clasped together in her lap and I can see the veins on the insides of her wrists - they’re showing bright blue through her pale skin. It makes her look so vulnerable. 

I reach across and take her hand, and she glances at me when I do it. She lets me take it though, and I hold it on my lap as our driver maneuvers away from campus and onto Lakeshore to get us downtown. 

“So you’re going to Northwestern Memorial, huh?” the driver asks.

I feel April’s hand twitch in mine. “Yeah,” I say, hoping he’ll leave it alone. 

“You feelin’ okay?” 

I furrow my eyebrows. “Uh, yeah,” I say. “Just, um, getting a yearly physical.” 

“They say it’s one of the best hospitals around, you know that?” he continues, switching lanes. “It has a great… what is it, what do they call it with cancer?”

“Oncology,” I say quietly. 

“Yeah, that. They say there’s a great oncology program there. I read that in the paper yesterday, one of the best in the country.” 

April goes back to looking out the window, only the back of that hat is facing me.

“I’ve heard that, too,” I murmur, running my thumb over the bumps of her knuckles. 

After her blood-work is finished and vitals are taken, we’re sitting in the same room as last time. The same view out the window, the same TV on the wall, the same menu on the table. 

We’re waiting for the chemo nurse to come in and with every passing second, April gets more anxious. Her knees are bent on the reclining chair and she’s bouncing one heel, her hands folded together between her thighs and stomach. I look over when I see her start to shake her head vigorously, her mouth turning down in a frown and her eyebrows knitting together. 

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” she mutters, over and over again. She starts to breathe heavier and faster, taking sections of the inside of her lower lip to chew on. “I can’t feel like that again.” Her chest heaves with how hard she’s breathing, so I get up from my chair to go join her. 

She looks quickly up at me as I lower myself down, pinching her face more. “Stop, no, I don’t…” she whimpers, still breathing shallowly and shaking her head. “You shouldn’t have to be… Jackson, no, you don’t…” 

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and she doesn’t fight me. She blinks hard and a few tears roll down her cheeks and slide into her mouth, and her tongue darts out to make them disappear. 

“I don’t wanna be here,” she says, her voice very small. “I don’t wanna be here, I don’t wanna do this, I don’t want you to see this…” She covers her face with her hands and finally lets herself sob, but I just rock her side to side with my lips planted near the pompom of the hat. 

Without really realizing it, I start to hum. I hum the first song that comes into my head, which coincidentally is ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider.’ I hum it a couple times through and soon she stops sobbing so violently, and looks up at me curiously with wet, shiny cheeks. 

“Wanna hum it with me?” I ask. “It might help you feel better.” 

She rests her head back down on my shoulder, and I keep humming. The same song, over and over again, filling up the silence of this room. It takes a little bit, but she finally joins me - her high voice melding with my much lower one.

Her voice still rattles when she speaks, but what matters is that she says something. “When we get back,” she says, her hand flat on my chest as she grabs at my first. “Would you play it for me?” 

I press my lips to what I can reach of her forehead and squeeze her closer, telling her without words that there’s nothing else I’d rather do. 


	15. Chapter 15

**APRIL**

My chemotherapy lasts for two months, on and off every two weeks until spring arrives.

My hair doesn’t try to go back. From my arms, legs, and head - it stays gone. I continue to be exhausted from the treatments, but my doctors are hopeful that they’re working. I’m due to go in for intensive bloodwork to see if it looks like I’m on my way to remission, and my mom is coming to the city to be there with me. Of course, Jackson will still be there, too. But this is an important meeting that she doesn’t want to miss. 

I’m very nervous as the three of us sit in the car on the way to the hospital and I have a piercing headache. Headaches are a symptom of my leukemia because of the anemia that comes along with it, so it’s not much of a shock. I’ve been getting them a lot lately, which doesn’t make me feel very hopeful that the chemo is doing its job. I haven’t told anyone, though. I’m sure they’ve gotten tired of me complaining about my side-effects. 

I blink my eyes hard against the watery sunlight coming off the lake. Jackson nudges my shoulder and I look back to see him offering me my sunglasses, which I readily take. My eyes have been pretty sensitive for the last month or so. It hasn’t come as a surprise. Because of the chemo, my entire body is sensitive. 

I put them on and rest my head back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. Since the weather has gotten warmer, I haven’t been able to wear the DePaul hat outside anymore. I still wear it inside to keep warm, but I’ve accrued a big collection of scarves for when we go out. 

It’s the beginning of spring, but my winter recital is tonight. So my mom not only came in for an update on my medical prognosis, but to hear me play, too. She and Jackson are super excited about it. I’m playing four songs this time: Raindrop by Chopin, Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 ‘Andante,’ La Campanella by Franz Liszt, and Gratitude by Edvard Grieg. I tell myself that I just have to get through this doctor’s appointment to have a really enjoyable night later. They’re taking me out for dinner after, downtown to the Grand Luxe. I can’t wait. 

I hold Jackson’s arm on the way into the hospital, walking the path that we’ve walked so many times. The desk receptionist greets me by name, and so do my nurses. We wait for a while until Dr. Janssen has enough time to speak with us personally in her office, and my stomach has plenty of time to twist and turn as the minutes tick by.

“Don’t forget to tell her about the headaches,” Jackson says. 

I nod slightly. “I did already, a while ago,” I say. “Remember? She said that was my anemia.” 

He makes a pensive sound. “I don’t know,” he says. “Just seems weird.” 

“You should tell her everything you’re experiencing,” Mom says, and I find myself getting annoyed with her. She hasn’t been here for the majority of my attempted recovery, so I’m not sure what place she has in telling me what to say to my doctor. I know it’s not her fault she hasn’t been here - she would have been if it were possible - but that doesn’t mean she knows what’s going on. Not as well as Jackson and I do, at least. 

Dr. Janssen’s office is quiet and well-organized when we make our way inside. “Hi, April,” she says, shaking my hand with a smile. I greet her and look down at her desk, where I see a manila folder of what must be my file. 

She shakes hands with Jackson, and then my mom. “I’m Dr. Loren Janssen,” she says. “You must be April’s mother. We’ve spoken plenty on the phone, it’s nice to finally meet you, Karen.” 

“You, too,” Mom says. “Thank you for taking such good care care of my daughter.”

Dr. Janssen sits down. “It’s been my pleasure,” she says, eyes sparkling. “She’s been our star student. And Jackson here has been a star caretaker.” 

I can feel Jackson’s energy switch to bashfulness beside me. I reach over the armrest of my chair and take his hand. 

“So how have you been feeling since your last treatment, April?” Dr. Janssen asks. “I want to hear how you’ve been holding up before we get into your test results.” 

Jackson squeezes my hand. “I, uh… I’ve been okay,” I say. “My hair isn’t coming back. Like, at all. Not even a little peach fuzz. I’ve been a little dizzy, but not too bad. My eyes can get really sensitive from sunlight, so I wear my sunglasses a lot.” 

“That’s good,” she says. “And the headaches? How have those been?” 

I hear my mom make a small sound in her throat, and I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Um, they’re still here,” I say. 

“Better or worse than during chemo weeks?” she asks. 

I center on the insistent throbbing against my temples that’s happening right now. “Worse,” I admit. 

“Okay,” she says, and I’m not sure how to decipher that answer. “Anything else? Any other symptoms, new or old?” 

“I only throw up during chemo weeks,” I say truthfully. “I still bruise easily, but you said that was to be expected. It’s all mostly my same normal symptoms, except the really bad headaches.” 

“Do they keep you up at night?” she asks. “Do they wake you up?” 

“I…” I begin, but my voice dies off. 

“They do,” Jackson answers, nodding slowly. “Sometimes it’s hard for her to sleep at all because of them.” His eyes dart to me. “Warm washcloths usually help. And white noise.”

Dr. Janssen nods. “And the nosebleeds?” she asks. 

“Still here,” I say. 

“How often?”

“Once every couple days, maybe,” I say. 

“A lot of blood?” she asks. “Or a little? And how long would you say they normally last?” 

“I…” I say again, then look to Jackson for help. He knows just what to do when I get a nosebleed now, he’s the expert. 

“I’d say a considerable amount of blood,” he says. “They last for about a half hour. Sometimes 45 minutes. There was one last week that wouldn’t stop for anything, that one maybe lasted for an hour or so.” 

The doctor nods and I can feel my mom grow tense. 

“What’s that mean?” Mom asks. 

Dr. Janssen looks up from her paperwork. “It could mean a few things,” she says. “Headaches, nosebleeds, and dizziness are all symptoms of the type of leukemia April has in the first place. But they could also be symptoms of other things, which is what we’ll have to look into.” 

“Other things, like what?” Mom asks. My stomach is in knots hearing my doctor say these things. The tone of her voice isn’t comforting at all - I’ve grown to know when she’s being genuinely positive and when she’s putting on a facade. Right now, she’s wearing a very convincing mask, but I don’t fall for it. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Dr. Janssen says. “I want to tell you the good news first.” She pulls out a piece of paper from the manila folder. “Your immature white blood cell count has decreased. That’s amazing news. You should be very happy to hear that, April. That means the chemo did what it was supposed to.” 

I smile, letting myself be happy to hear that one shred of good news. “Does that mean it’s gone?” Jackson asks. 

“No,” Dr. Janssen answers. “That just means it did what we wanted it to do.” 

“So it’s still in her body?” Mom asks. 

“Yes.” 

“What else is there?” she prompts. “I know there’s something else.” 

Dr. Janssen clears her throat. “With the symptoms she’s portraying and the fact that there are still leukemic cells in her system worries me that they might have spread elsewhere in her body,” she explains. “With the headaches, nosebleeds, and dizziness… those are all warning signs that it’s metastasized to the central nervous system.”

Central nervous system - I know that means my brain and spinal cord. Suddenly, the outer ring of my vision goes black and I have to grip my armrests so I don’t fall to the floor. I clench my jaw and feel my pulse hammering in my head, insistently reminding me of what’s ravaging my body from the inside out. 

“Wait...wha-what?” Mom stutters. 

“I don’t know for sure, so don’t get scared yet,” my doctor says. “We’ll have to do some tests. A spinal tap and an MRI, the answers will be clear once we’re able to analyze the data. It might be nothing. It very well could just be side-effects of the anemia, April is right. But we need to rule these other things out.” 

My hands are sweaty and shaking. “When?” I ask. 

“As soon as possible,” she says. “Is there any way you can come in tomorrow morning, around 8am? If we get you in early, we can get the results before the end of the day. And it won’t have to be a waiting game.” 

We agree to the time and leave the office - my recital is soon and I have to get back to prepare, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to focus knowing that there might be something even more horrible than I thought happening inside my body right now. 

Once we’re in the car on the way back, Jackson speaks first. “It might be nothing,” he says. “It might just be the same old same old, that’s what she said.” He looks over at me, but I don’t look back. I’m crying beneath my sunglasses, but I don’t want him to know. Because if he sees, he’ll hold me. And if he holds me, I’ll just start to cry harder and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. “You know she doesn’t say stuff she doesn’t mean. She’s always real with you.”

“Yeah,” I peep. 

“Everything will be okay, honey,” Mom says, but I can hear the fear in her voice. I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to be strong for me - I’ve spent enough time being strong for myself - but I don’t. I let her be the mom, because she hasn’t gotten the chance to be lately. If she wants to be my pillar of strength right now, I’ll let her. Tonight, I’ll let her and Jackson be my rocks. 

I pick out a dress later - a knee length, long sleeved green one with jeweled details at the waist, and wrap a pearl-colored scarf around my head to go with it. Since my hair has been gone, I’ve gotten much better at makeup, so I sit on the floor in front of my mirror and painstakingly do my face so I’ll look pretty for tonight. 

As I’m slipping my feet into my kitten-heeled shoes, Jackson comes in looking dapper in dark jeans and a pink button-up. I smile and walk up to him, placing my hands on his chest as he wraps his arms around my waist. “You look fantastic,” I tell him. 

He touches my chin with his thumb, which pulls my lower lip down a bit. “Not as fantastic as you,” he says, and kisses me. “I love you, piano girl.” 

When Mom comes out from the bathroom, we’re all ready to go. We make our way to the School of Music and I greet some friends along the way, and I can tell Mom is enjoying seeing how I live here. It makes her happy that I’ve found somewhere where I fit in and that I love what I do. 

When we walk inside the building, a wave of nerves washes over me as a bunch more people are in the lobby as there were for the fall recital. As we maneuver through them, some people’s eyes land on me and stare for just a little too long, and I look up at Jackson with wide eyes. “They’re staring at me,” I whisper. 

“Fuck ‘em,” he whispers back. “No one’s gonna notice your scarf once you start playing, trust me.” 

Mom goes to find a seat in the small auditorium and Jackson walks me all the way to the backstage area. He holds my face in his hands and kisses me slow, and I lean into him. “I can’t wait to hear you,” he says, caressing my cheek. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m still thinking about it,” I admit. I took some powerful pain meds before we left, but the headache still looms. Now, it’s more noticeable than ever. 

“Try not to,” he says, but it’s easier said than done. It’s not his body. These aren’t his symptoms. He doesn’t have to live with them, day in and day out. I do. 

But he’s right. I want to lose myself, separate myself from all this, at least for a little while. And through my music, I’ll be able to do that. 

“I’ll try,” I say, and squeeze his waist. “Thanks for coming with us today. I… I needed you there.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” he says, kissing the side of my head over my scarf. “It was important to me to be there, too.” 

I nod and feel my eyes burn, but I won’t cry. I’ll mess up my makeup and it’ll be a big huge thing, especially since I’m going to go out and perform soon. 

“You better go find your seat,” I say, pulling away from him and blinking hard. “Mom’ll be wondering where you are.” I force a smile, and he gives me a sad one in return. 

“I love you,” he says, then makes a move to leave. 

I grab his wrist before he can go, though, and he turns around curiously. “Wait,” I say, then pucker my lips. “One more. For luck.” 

He chuckles. “You don’t need luck,” he tells me. “But I’m never gonna say no to kissing you.” 

When it’s my turn to go out on a stage, a welcome calm has washed over me as I scan the audience. My mom and Jackson are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with the same expression on their faces - a mixture of pride and somberness. I try not to feel sad, though. I hold onto the tiny shred of hope I was given by Dr. Janssen and run with it, then walk confidently out to the piano bench once my name is announced. 

I get lost in the music and let it flow through me in the way I love. Even though I’m in front of a couple hundred people, I feel like I’m completely alone with the songs. Well, maybe not completely alone. I feel at peace like I do when I’m with Jackson next to me on the bench in a practice room - I feel the swell of getting a rhythm right for the first time, finishing a piece with no mistakes, the warmth of his eyes as he beams at me. 

When I finish and stand up from the bench for my bow, the applause is deafening. I smile out at the crowd and search for my mom and Jackson’s faces, to find them both with tears in their eyes. They both smile at me and I give a little wave in return, then grab my sheet music from the stand to let the next performer come out. 

***

“You sounded great on La Campanella,” Jackson says that night, over dinner. I’m eating fettuccine alfredo and so is he, and Mom has a fancy salad. “You didn’t mess up one single time.” 

“What one was that?” Mom asks. 

“Third one,” Jackson says, finishing up his noodles. “Let me have a bite of yours,” he says, pointing his fork over to my plate. 

“You got the same exact thing!” I say, laughing. 

“I know, but I’m done,” he says.

“Not my fault you ate too fast,” I say, twirling my fork. 

“I was hungry,” he says. “And I’m still hungry. Yours looks better, anyway.” 

I give him a look. “Fine,” I say, giving in like always. He loves to steal my food.

“Like you were gonna eat all this anyway,” he says, nudging me with his elbow. I giggle. 

“April, you’re playing beautifully these days,” Mom says, grinning in my direction. “You’ve improved so much. During high school, you would have never dreamed to try pieces like those. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Thanks, mom,” I say. 

“I’m slowly catching up to her, though,” Jackson says, feeling his oats. “You should hear me play ‘Happy Birthday.’ Your life will never be the same.” 

“I’m sure,” Mom says, and we all crack up laughing. 

We have a nice night, the three of us together. While I’m sure all of us are thinking about my potential prognosis, we all pretend that we’re not. And eventually, it does fade from the forefront of my mind. That is, until later that night when the lights are out and we’re laying down to go to sleep.

My mom is in a hotel nearby and is meeting us with the car outside tomorrow morning. For right now, it’s just me and Jackson in my little bed, like always. We’re nose-to-nose and his eyes are closed, but mine are open as I study his face. 

I press my lips to his softly and he kisses me back after a second-long delay, surprised because I’d woken him up out of a light sleep. “Can you just remember one thing?” I ask him, and he nods sleepily. “That I love you,” I finish. 

He blinks his eyes open and looks at me with confusion. “Why are you talking like that?” he asks. 

I purse my lips. “I’m not talking like anything,” I claim. 

“Yes, you are,” he says. He sounds fully awake now. “It… it’s gonna be fine tomorrow, baby. And even if it’s not… even if it’s bad, you’re not allowed to start talking like… like you’re fucking dying.” 

My face heats up. My imminent diagnosis was on my mind, admittedly. I just wanted him to say that he loves me back so we could go to sleep. I didn’t expect him to get so mad over it.

“I won’t sit here and let you resign,” he says. “No matter what.” 

“I’m not,” I say, but my voice is weak. 

“You’re  _ living _ ,” he says. “Today, what I saw you do today. Playing that piano like… like you weren’t meant to do anything else. That was  _ living _ , April. And you’re not gonna do anything different for the rest of the long time that you’re here on earth. Okay?” I don’t respond, so he prompts me again. “Okay?” 

“But you don’t know how this feels,” I say, finding my voice in the dark. I look up into his eyes to see them shining in the dim light coming from the streetlamp across the way. “You don’t know how it feels to be completely out of control of what happens to your body.” My throat clogs up and I blink hard so I won’t cry. “During chemo, I hurt so much that I didn’t even know if I was gonna wake up the next morning. Now, my doctor is telling me that there might be something in my brain. I have to go get fluid taken from my spine tomorrow.” I pull my hands up to clasp together under my chin. “When you have to go through that, you can tell me what I can and can’t say. Until then…” My voice breaks and I close my eyes. “You just don’t know how this feels.” 

He lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I’m thankful he apologizes. That’s something he can always be counted on to do. “I just don’t want you giving up. April…” His voice grows a little higher - I’ve never heard it get like this. It sounds like he might cry. “I can’t lose you. I just don’t even want to think about losing you.”

I duck my head and press my forehead to his chest, and hear his breath hitch in his throat as he winds his arms tight around me. “You won’t lose me,” I whisper, and feel his shoulders tremble. He’s crying. “You won’t lose me, city boy,” I repeat in a whisper, and rub his back. “I promise.” 

“And now,” he hiccups. “You’re comforting me. How fucked up this that? Like seriously, how-how fucked up is that that you’re comforting  _ me _ when you’re the one with cancer?” He shakes his head roughly. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying, I’m so… I shouldn’t be the one doing this. You’re the one who’s allowed to be upset, not me.” He lets out an errant sob. “Not me.” 

“You can be upset, Jackson,” I tell him, his chin still pressed against my head. “It’s okay. I’m here for you, too.” 

“You shouldn’t have to be,” he says, and his tears aren’t slowing down. “I need to be the strong one. I should be. For you.” 

“You always are,” I say. “You need a chance to break down, too.”

He lets out a long sob, then holds me tighter as he cries against me. Hearing him break down so openly makes my chest feel like it could crack in half. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.” 

“Jackson, you’ve seen me throw up in the middle of this room,” I say. “You shaved all my hair off, you see me bald every day. You’ve given me baths, you’ve clipped my fingernails when I don’t have the strength to do anything. You’ve dried my tears on countless occasions. I think I can see you cry this once.” 

He hugs me even tighter and I grapple for his shoulders as he trembles against me. 

“I’m right here,” I say, suddenly realizing how upset about this whole thing he really is. He’s been putting on a strong front for a really long time, having not broken down or shown any fear for my entire treatment. This tells me that he’s been bottling up the way he feels for a long time, and this is the dam bursting. I never knew how much he was hiding. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, solidly like a promise. “I got you.” 

Somehow, comforting him makes me forget about my own fears. When I have someone else to take care of, it takes the weight off of me. 

He grows quieter, but he doesn’t stop crying. I don’t shush him or anything like that, I just keep my arms wrapped around him with my lips pressed against his forehead, muttering soothing things every now and then. 

His breath comes shallowly and his chest still rattles as he tries to calm down. I run my fingers down the back of his head, clear my throat, and start to sing the first thing that comes to mind. “ _ Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones… and I will try to fix you. _ ” 

***

When the specialist inserts the numbing medication into my lower back, I’m lying in the fetal position and gritting my teeth from the burning sensation. I have to lie this way so they can collect the spinal fluid successfully, but it’s not comfortable at all. 

I’m alone and scared. I’ve never had something done like this before, and I hope I’ll never have to do it again. First, this test will get done, then I’ll go upstairs for my MRI. Which I assume will be a lot easier than waiting for fluid to passively drip out of my spine. 

“I’m gonna insert the needle now, April,” he says, and I nod. He feels his way from the side of my pelvic bone and counts his way up my vertebrae, and I wince when the pressure of the needle goes in. “Try and relax,” he says. 

I resist the urge to say,  _ how about you try and relax when a long freaking needle is being shoved into your back _ . 

I close my eyes and try to forget what’s happening. I woke up with a splitting headache, but I didn’t tell anyone. Especially not Jackson. He had a hard enough night last night, having not fallen asleep for at least another hour, and that was because he tired himself out. 

When we woke up this morning, his eyes were puffy but he wanted to forget that anything ever happened. I think he feels guilty for breaking down so completely, but he shouldn’t. I should’ve known that he was bottling so much up, I should’ve given him a chance to release it sooner. 

I feel like I’m lying on this examination table for years waiting for my fluid to drain, so when it’s finally over and my back has been dressed with gauze, the specialist helps me into a wheelchair back out to where my mom and Jackson are waiting. 

“There she is,” Mom says, her voice full of relief as she hurries up to me. Jackson is close behind, and waits while Mom frames my face and kisses my forehead. I have the DePaul hat on today because the hospital is chilly, and she squeezes the pompom before letting me go. 

“How was it?” Jackson asks, taking the handles of my wheelchair and pushing me in the direction of the cafeteria. We have a break before my MRI that’s enough time to eat lunch. “Did it hurt?” 

“It burned,” I say. “The anesthesia. And the tap was just like… pressure. It wasn’t that bad. I just had to lay on my side for a long time. It was uncomfortable.” 

“Sounds like it,” he says. 

We eat lunch, but I only pick at mine because I’m nervous. Not for the MRI exactly, but for what will come tonight. The results. I can’t bear to think about that without feeling the urge to throw up, so I try to think about what’s happening in the moment. I think about Jackson’s blue DePaul hoodie, my mom’s flyaway hairs framing her forehead, and the freckles on my arms. Anything but what will happen tonight. Anything. 

Inside the MRI machine, I’m given earphones so I won’t hear the loud knocking noises going on around me while it takes pictures of my brain. I squeeze my eyes shut tight as the technician tells me to keep as still as I can, but I can’t help flinching as I hear the sounds through the music playing in my ears. 

I wish someone could be in here with me, because I’m starting to feel more and more afraid. I open my mouth and bare my teeth as I wince, but try and keep my body from moving any more than that. I don’t want to have to come back in here and do this again. 

I keep my eyes closed, because I’m terrified to open them and see the closed confines around me. I’m scared that if I open them, I’ll feel like I’m in a coffin. It’s a tight, narrow space with a low ceiling and a rounded exterior. As I think about it, I become more and more claustrophobic, and when I’m finally let out, I’m crying. 

“Hey, hey, hey, you okay?” Jackson asks, as I’m wheeled back to where they’re waiting once again. He looks back at my mom. “She’s crying. April, baby, are you okay?” 

I wipe my cheeks and breathe shallowly, swallowing loudly. “Can we go somewhere quiet?” I ask, my voice small.

The three of us go into an empty hallway, and Jackson kneels next to my wheelchair. I’m shivering in just my hospital gown, so he takes off his hoodie and pulls it on over the papery material to warm me up. 

“Honey, is everything alright?” Mom asks, coming around to the front of me. 

I try to calm down and breathe easier, but it’s difficult. “It was so loud,” I gasp. “I was all alone. I had to stay still, and it was so small.” I cover my face and shake my head. “I was scared. I just never wanna do that again.” 

I feel lips on my forehead and smell Jackson’s cologne as he gets close to me. “You won’t have to,” he says. “They’re gonna get the results they need from it, and you’ll never have to do it again.” 

“Because they won’t find anything,” Mom says, trying to sound hopeful. “They’re gonna see that the headaches and stuff were just from your anemia, and everything will be fine.” Her forced optimism is just making me feel worse, but I don’t tell her so. I can tell it’s a way she’s trying to cope for herself. 

During the time we have to wait, I don’t do research on what it might mean if the leukemia has moved to my brain. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to spend time obsessing over it and scare myself when it might not be anything meaningful at all. 

During the break, there’s enough time to go home and come back, so that’s what we do. We go to my mom’s hotel and take naps on the two beds, and sleep for a long time - all the way into the evening. When I wake up, I’m lethargic and disoriented, and the first thing I see is that Jackson and my mom are talking at the foot of the bed next to mine. They stop when they notice I’m awake though, and they both smile at me.

All I can do is blink at them. My head is so foggy. When I take naps during the day, this is how I always wake up feeling. 

Jackson walks over to me and gives me a kiss atop my bare head. “Hi, beautiful,” he says, and sits down next to me. “It’s almost 7. We’re in your mom’s hotel, we haven’t eaten dinner yet.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I rest against him dependently. “We’re still waiting on the call from the doctor. You slept for about four hours.” 

Things start to get clearer. When my confusion after naps became routine, he started laying things out concisely for me so I could get my thoughts straight, and it really helps. 

“She sometimes gets like that after she wakes up,” Jackson says to my mom, one hand on my knee. I offer her a sleepy smile, but I don’t miss the concerned look in her eyes.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” Mom asks, furrowing her eyebrows.

I rub my eyes, blinking them to clear my vision. “Yeah,” I say. “Just tired.” 

She comes over and skims her hands over my head, and I resist shrinking away from her touch. I don’t like anyone else but Jackson touching my bare head - I have a big problem with it because that’s something I’m very insecure about. She kisses the top of it, which makes my throat tighten, then holds my face in her hands. “You slept for a long time.” 

“I had a spinal tap and an MRI this morning,” I say. 

Jackson chuckles and Mom makes a face like I’ve proven my point. 

We eat dinner and get a call from Dr. Janssen not long after, asking us to come in and discuss my results. Before Mom can even get through telling me what the doctor said on the phone, my stomach lurches and I run to the bathroom, throwing up the entirety of the dinner I just ate because of the violent wave of nervous nausea that washes over me. 

I’m shaking when I get out of the bathroom, and those two are looking at me with concern. “I’m sorry,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. “I’m really nervous.” 

In the car on the way over, Mom talks too much and I don’t talk at all. I don’t hear what she’s saying, and I know Jackson isn’t listening either. He has one hand on my leg, taking up almost the full expanse of my thigh, and I’m glad that he does. It’s comforting, like an anchor keeping me on earth. 

I overlap his hand with mine when we pull into the hospital parking lot, and he gives me an encouraging look. We walk next to my mom, hand-in-hand, and when we get through the doors, Dr. Janssen is waiting for us while leaning against the nurses’ station. 

My stomach drops. Never once has she been waiting for us with nothing else to do. 

“Welcome back,” she says, smiling. It doesn’t reach her eyes. I squeeze Jackson’s hand, and he gives me a firm kiss on the cheek. I didn’t feel like putting a different scarf on, so I’m still in the DePaul hat. And over my leggings, I have on his sweatshirt but I still can’t stop shivering. “If you just wanna follow me back to my office, we can discuss April’s results there.” 

My knees are weak and I feel like I’m going to topple over as we follow the back of Dr. Janssen’s white lab coat. I feel like I have tunnel vision, like I can only see what’s right in front of me. I can’t focus on anything else but that, because my brain can only handle one thing at a time. 

There’s one phrase repeating through my mind like a broken record. 

_ I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die _ . 

I don’t say it out loud. I don’t voice my fears, because I don’t want to be comforted. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. If it were nothing, couldn’t she have just told us over the phone? I don’t know how these things work. 

We sit down in the same three chairs from yesterday and stare at her wordlessly. 

“So, the tests were very clear today,” she says, looking down at the results. “We don’t need anything redone, you did a great job, April. I know you didn’t want to go back and do them again, and you won’t have to.” 

At least there’s one shrivel of good news I can cling onto. I just nod. I’m not here to make small talk, and she knows that. 

“What I want to call attention to is the MRI,” she says, finally cutting to the chase. She stands up and turns on the lighted screens on the wall and sticks the brain scan up so the outline is clearly visible. She sighs as she looks at it, and I break out in a cold sweat. “What I don’t like is right here. These little masses, do you see those?” I squint my eyes. I can’t see much of anything, but that might be because my vision keeps blurring in and out. “Those are clots of leukemic cells, getting bunched together without being able to flow freely. Right now, there’s one in your occipital lobe, which explains the headaches. And one in the side of your temporal lobe, which deals with memory, speech, and musical rhythm.”

My heart stops. My mouth goes completely dry and I can’t breathe. Blood clots in my brain. I can see that she’s stopped speaking, and that’s good because I can’t hear anything right now.

Dr. Janssen’s eyes are wide as she walks closer to me, kneeling down to talk to me at face-level. My hearing starts to come back as she says, “We’re not helpless here. There are plenty of things we can do.” 

“Like what?” my mom asks, sounding very alarmed. 

“Unfortunately, they’re in spots that makes operating nearly impossible,” my doctor says. “I’ve already ruled that out. But radiation therapy can be very useful in situations like these. I’ve seen a lot of patients worse off than you come out in complete remission, and the cancer never comes back.” 

I’m still focused on one thing. Musical rhythm. There’s a blood clot in my brain on the lobe that deals with musical rhythm. 

Maybe that piano recital I played last night will be the last one I ever play. 

“Radiation?” I hear Jackson’s soft voice come from behind me. “What does that do?” 

“It targets a specific spot in April’s…” 

I stop listening again and her voice fades out. My white blood cell count went down, but at what price? At the price of two blood clots to move into my brain and make their homes there, make themselves comfortable where, at any minute, they could ruin my life. What if I bump my head? What if I so much as sneeze and dislodge one? What happens then? 

I lift my hands up to my head and hold either side of it, staring down at the blue carpeted floor. My lips part and a gust of air escapes them, and I can feel my chest rising and falling dramatically with each breath I take. I look up at meet the eyes of my doctor, who’s stopped explaining and is now watching me intently. 

“Am I gonna die?” I ask, point blank.

She gives me a firm look. “We’re gonna do everything we can to make sure you get better, not worse,” she says. “We can handle this.  _ You _ can handle this. You’re strong. You made it through chemo, your body killed a lot of what was attacking it. Now we just have to switch gears.” 

I nod shakily and look to my mom, whose eyes are teary. “I want you to come home,” she says softly, and takes my hand in both of hers. 

I don’t fight. Going home to a place that I know sounds better than being at school, where it doesn’t sound like I’ll be able to live a normal life, anyway. I want to be around my family, I want to be around a whole support system who can catch me when I fall. 

I can’t put all that weight on Jackson anymore. I won’t do it. 

“Okay,” I agree. 

Orders are put in place to have me transferred back to the hospital in Columbus, where I’ll begin my radiation therapy very soon. Dr. Janssen wants me to get in there as quickly as I can so we can disintegrate the clots early, before any more can form. I like how hopeful she is, but I don’t know what to expect. This explains my headaches, my blurry vision, my dizziness. But who knows how else they’re going to make me feel as the days pass by? Who knows how else they’re going to deteriorate my body? 

We’re leaving tomorrow morning to go back to Moline. When Mom pulls the car up in the taxi lane in front of Clifton, all three of us get out. She pulls me into a big, tight hug, then holds me at arm's length. “Do you want me to come up and help you pack?” she asks. 

I look at Jackson, who’s standing off to the side, rubbing the back of his neck and purposefully giving us space. I need to be with him tonight. 

I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again. 

“No, it’s okay, mom,” I say quietly.

“Okay,” she says, and her voice is waterlogged. “Honey.” I look up at her and she holds my chin in her thumb and first finger. “I am so sorry.” 

I melt into her arms again and tuck my face into her familiar-smelling hair. “I love you, mama,” I say, and choke back tears. She rubs my back hard and looks at my face again before giving me a quick kiss on the forehead. 

“I’ll be here to pick you up in the morning,” she says. “Have a good sleep.” 

I nod, and she gets back into the car. I turn around, take Jackson by the arm, and we walk upstairs - not saying anything until my door closes behind us. 

“Will you help me pack up some things?” I ask. I’m so tired, but I need clothes back at home. I don’t have anything there that I still wear. I look at him and see that he’s rubbing his eyes - the day has tired him out, too. “Or you don’t have to. I really…” I sigh. “I just want to spend some time with you.” 

“Before you have to leave,” he says. “Are you really leaving?” 

I kick off my shoes and wring my hands together. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to leave you, I really, really don’t. But I need to be with my family. And I feel like, I don’t know. I feel like they need to be with me.” 

He nods firmly, his jaw set straight. He gets to work on taking some clothes down from their hangers in my closet and folding them up as best he can in the suitcase I set out, and we don’t speak for a while. 

I sit down on the bed when I need a break and hold my head very gently in my hands. I keep thinking about music and all the times Jackson and I have bonded over it together. I wanted to keep teaching him. I wanted him to keep learning. What if I can’t be his teacher anymore? What if I forget everything I’ve ever known about the art form that my life revolves around? 

He stands in front of me and puts his hands on my thighs, spreading my knees so he can stand between them. He looks into my eyes soberly and blinks, then says, “I can’t be here without you.” 

I look at his face and reach up to hold it in my hands. He looks so sad, so soft and vulnerable, that I just want to hold him and never let him go. I’m sure, right now, he feels the same way about me. 

We’re not meant to be apart from each other. Not in a time like this, not ever. 

“Come with me,” I say. “Come home.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**JACKSON**

April sleeps while I’m on the phone with my mom. She’s so tired from the long day full of bad news that she falls asleep sitting up, so I get her settled under the covers with barely a stir from her. 

“You want to take a break from school?” Mom repeats, flabbergasted. “No, absolutely not.” 

“Mom,” I say, quiet but stern. I don’t want to leave April alone in her room, so I can’t raise my voice to a normal speaking level. “You have to hear me out.” 

“You won’t tell me what I  _ have _ to do, son,” she says, and I clench my teeth together. “This is only your second quarter of your freshman year. What makes you think you have enough experience to take a break?” 

“I need to be with April,” I cut in, and glance over at her sleeping figure. She’s got the hat on, like always when she sleeps, and her face is open and worry-free. I wish I could keep her this way. 

Mom sounds confused and even more annoyed. “ _ Be _ with April?” she scoffs. “All that time at school isn’t enough?” 

I let out a short breath from my nose. “She’s sick, mom,” I say. “Really sick. She has cancer, and it spread to her brain. She’s going home tomorrow for more intensive treatment, and I need to be in that car when she leaves.” I pause for a second. “I can’t let her go without me.” 

Mom is silent for a long time. “She has cancer,” she states. “What kind?” 

“Leukemia,” I say. “AML.” 

“Jesus Christ,” she says.

“She has two leukemic cell blood clots in her brain,” I say, talking medical with my mom. “She’s already gone through chemo, but now they’re gonna try radiation. Her mom wants her at home.”

The look on Karen’s face when she asked April to come back home scared me. It looked somber and resigned. I’m worried that if she gives up on the chances of her daughter recovering, that April will too. And that can’t happen. She  _ will _ recover.

“I just need time with her,” I say. “I need to be with her right now. I’ve been with her through everything so far… I can’t stay here obsessing over what’s going on while she’s in Ohio. I’ll go crazy. I know I will.” 

Mom sighs, and I can hear the sadness in it. “The chemo didn’t work?”

“It did,” I say. “Her white blood cell count is lower. But things just… moved around, I guess.” 

“Lord almighty,” she says. “How is she faring?” 

I look at my sleeping girlfriend again, then turn away towards the window. Sometimes, seeing her at peace instead of in pain just makes me feel sadder because of how rare it is. Sometimes, looking at her hurts. 

“Sometimes good, sometimes bad,” I say. “Right now, she’s not doing well. She just got the diagnosis today. She’s scared and her body is really worn down.” I shake my head as my eyes burn. “It’s really hard seeing her like this.”

“Is she hopeful?” 

“She tries to be,” I say. “I try to be as encouraging as I can. I was reading online that being more optimistic can sometimes mean a better outcome than if you’re down in the dumps all the time. So I try to cheer her up a lot.” 

I hear my mom smile. “It sounds like you’re good for her.” 

“I try to be,” I say. “But I’m scared, too.” 

She makes a sympathetic sound. “If she’s as strong as you make her out to be, then she’ll come out of this just fine. I know it’s been hard, and it’ll continue to be hard, but…” She sighs. “Take some time off. I’ll arrange it with the school. Go home with her. Be with her, help her get better.” She clears her throat. “I raised you to be a good man, and that’s what you’re trying to do. I won’t stop you.”

My body floods with relief. “Thank you, mom,” I say. 

***

It doesn’t take much persuading for Karen to agree to let me come with them. After the majority of the long car ride is over and we’re driving through their neighborhood, April is antsy and fidgety beside me. 

“You okay?” I ask. 

She looks to me quickly, then back out the window. “Nervous,” she says.

Karen looks back in the rearview mirror. “What for?” she asks. 

April wraps her arms around herself and somehow becomes smaller than before. “For what everyone’s gonna say,” she says. “And what they’ll think. That’s even worse.” 

“They’re your family,” I say. “It’ll be fine.” 

She doesn’t respond. She stays quiet as we pull into their driveway, and I see her sisters come out from the front door. Unlike at Thanksgiving, when they all wore smiles, this time everyone’s faces are expectant and somber. They don’t know what state April will step out of the car in. I suddenly realize why she’s so nervous - she’s presenting a whole new version of herself to people who have known her as healthy their entire lives. 

She looks out the window at them, then takes in a deep breath as she opens the door. I stay close behind her as she walks up the path to the porch, and Liam is making happy, squealy noises when he sees her. 

“Auntie April!” he says, having a hard time pronouncing her name. She smiles when she sees him, then gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Hot,” he says. “No hat.” And with that, he grabs the pompom in his little hand and yanks the DePaul hat off of her, leaving her head very bare and exposed. 

“Oh, Liam, no!” Libby says, taking the hat from him. “We don’t take, we don’t…” She looks up with the hat in one hand, and her eyes center on April’s head. “We…” 

Alice gasps. Kimmie lets out a surprised cry. 

“I’m sorry, Duckie,” Libby says, gingerly handing the hat back. “He didn’t… we…” 

“He didn’t know, it’s fine,” April says, but quickly replaces the hat. “I want to go inside, excuse me.” 

I make eye contact with Libby, whose gaze is still trained on her sister as she goes through the door. She looks stunned; I guess none of them had known just how sick April is. 

When we all go inside, I see that April is wrapped up in her dad’s arms in the entryway and he’s muttering things softly as they hug. Alice takes my wrist, and I look to my left to see her standing there with a terrified expression on her face. 

“Is it really bad?” she asks, voice trembling. 

I open my mouth to tell her the truth, but remember how old she is. She’s 12 - she’s just a kid. And it’s not my place to drop this news, anyway. 

“She’s getting better,” I lie. 

Kimmie suddenly appears on my other side. “Why would you come home with her if she’s getting better?” she asks. 

My heart sinks. “It’s just important to me to be with her,” I say, then try to throw a joke in. “Maybe someday you’ll find a guy as awesome as me, but that’s probably impossible.” 

She doesn’t laugh. No one does - I don’t even crack a smile. They know how bad this is without me having to tell them. April loved her life at school, she wouldn’t come home for just anything.

It’ll all start tomorrow. Tomorrow is April’s first radiation treatment - Dr. Janssen told the oncologist in Columbus, Dr. Byers, that it’s urgent - so they got her in right away. 

After dinner, we’re all sitting in the living room talking about anything but cancer. April is sitting on the floor in front of the couch and Alice is behind her, and I’m in the armchair across from them. The rest of the family is scattered around the room, talking and laughing as a way to make themselves feel better on the surface. I can imagine it must be a comfort to have April at home where they can see her, and for right now they’re trying to forget the big, underlying reason why she’s here. 

“You should’ve heard Duckie play at her winter recital,” Karen says to Joe. “I got some video on my phone, but it’s just not the same.” Her eyes shine towards her daughter. “She was just magic."

“I bet she was,” Joe says. 

“I wanna see the videos,” Libby says, walking in after putting Liam to bed. 

“I’ll show you guys soon,” Karen says. “I don’t want to get my phone out right now. We’re having a nice time talking.” 

I smile at her words, then Joe calls attention to me. “It’s nice to see you again, Jackson,” he says. “I like having another man around this house. I tend to be outnumbered.”

I chuckle. “I’m happy to be here, too, sir,” I say.

“No need for the ‘sir’ stuff,” he says. “You’re one of the family now. You can let loose.” 

I smile again and feel my cheeks heat up. “Thanks,” I say. 

Libby sits down hard on the armchair next to mine and looks at April. “Duck,” she says. “I’m really sorry about earlier. With Liam taking the hat, in front of everyone right away, I can’t imagine it felt very good. I’m sorry.” 

April shrugs. She’s been especially quiet - having not said much of anything since we all sat down after dinner. “It’s fine,” she says. “He’s just a baby.” 

“I know,” Libby says. “But… I still feel bad.” 

Alice sits up a little bit and curiously touches the back of April’s hood, which is up instead of wearing the hat indoors. “Are you really totally bald?” she asks. “I’m not trying to be mean. But can I see?” 

She goes to pull the hood down, and April swivels around quickly. “No!” she snaps, hands on her head. “No, you can’t see it. And you shouldn’t ask people those kinds of things.” If looks could kill, Alice would be long gone by now. “You would never go up to a stranger and ask to see their bald chemo head. I don’t want you touching it, not today and not ever.” 

“April…” Karen says, but doesn’t follow up with anything. 

“Sorry,” Alice murmurs. 

April’s still tense. “You should be. You should never ask that, ever. If I wanted you to touch my head, I’d tell you. I don’t want your hands on me. You’re not a baby, Alice, you’re not two. You know better. So never do that again.” 

“I said I was sorry,” Alice says, shrinking back further into the couch cushions. 

April stands up and doesn’t make eye contact with anyone when she leaves the room, she just storms out and we all hear her bedroom door slam upstairs. After the harsh sound, Alice starts to cry as she leans forward with her face in her hands. 

Karen gets up and comforts her youngest, and Joe looks over at me. “I need to thank you, son,” he says. “For being there for her when we couldn’t.” 

I nod unsurely. “Of course,” I say. 

“I mean that,” he says. “Not everyone would have stuck around. I… she… she seems to have found the…” He presses his lips together, frustrated with himself for not being able to find the right words. “She got lucky with you. She’s very blessed to have you.” 

“No offense, sir,” I say, falling back into the old name accidentally. “But between the two of us, I’m the lucky one.” 

***

In the morning, April is already lying awake when the alarm goes off. I open my eyes slowly and see her staring up at the ceiling, jaw set tight. Her head is bare because the room is warm, so I pull myself close and kiss the side of it. 

“Is that okay?” I ask, lips moving against her skin. 

“It’s you,” she says. “Of course it’s okay.” 

I smile and tuck my face into her neck, kissing any open skin I can reach. “How long have you been up?” I ask, skimming my hand over her ribcage. 

“To answer that question would have to mean that I slept,” she says. 

“You didn’t?” I ask, propping myself up on one elbow. 

She lifts her eyes to my face and runs one hand over my head. “Your hair is getting too long,” she tells me, pulling strands away until they bounce back. 

“You’re just jealous,” I say, kissing her on the lips. “Maybe I should get a trim and we can glue it onto your cue ball head.” 

“Don’t give me any ideas,” she says, giggling at herself. She holds me by the back of my neck and pulls me closer, sighing softly as I push my tongue into her mouth. 

“You nervous for today?” I ask, pressing deliberate kisses to her chin and jaw. 

“I just wanna stay right here,” she says. “In bed with my super hot boyfriend who’s a super good kisser.” 

I smirk and cover her mouth with my own again. “He sounds sexy,” I say. “Maybe you should introduce us.” 

I hear her smile as I bend to kiss her neck. “Nah,” she says. “You might end up liking him better than you like me.” 

“Impossible,” I say. 

“Oh?” 

“Mm-hmm,” I say, wrapping an arm around her middle. “I don’t like anything better than I like you.” 

She holds me tighter, which erases every inch of space between our bodies. “You’re-” 

Suddenly, we’re interrupted by the sound of her door coming open and Kimmie’s voice. “Mom wanted me to tell you that it’s- oh. Sorry.” She shuts the door quickly, but April and I move away from each other anyway.

“What, Kimmie,” April calls out. 

The door comes back open and Kimmie’s face is beet red. Her eyes lift from the carpet and center heavily on April’s bare head, and that doesn’t go unnoticed by any of us. April scrambles for the DePaul hat, but can’t find it until I pick it up from the floor and hand it to her. It creates an awkward pocket of silence before Kimmie starts speaking again.

“I, um, I…” She clears her throat. “Mom wanted me to tell you that, uh, you guys have to leave soon. So you need to, uh, get up and get ready.” 

“Okay,” April says, winding one arm around my very bare waist. Kimmie stays standing there, staring. April widens her eyes and makes a shooing gesture with the hand that’s on the small of my back. “You can go now.” 

When the door shuts, she sits up and takes the hat off again, running her hands over her scalp. She lets out a long breath then lands her eyes on me, saying, “I’m scared.” 

I look at her from where I’m lying with my head on the pillow. “I know,” I say. 

“I don’t know what to expect,” she says. 

“I know,” I say again. “But your mom will be there, and so will I. Every step of the way. You’re not gonna have to do it alone.” 

She nods slowly. My words don’t offer much. 

***

As April is in the treatment room getting her radiation therapy, I find my stomach in knots as I sit next to Karen in the waiting room. We don’t speak - we don’t need to. We both know how the other is feeling. This is just how it was at the hospital in Chicago, too.  The vibe between us is a mutual understanding. We are both terrified for her. 

It seems to take forever before she gets wheeled out. When that pompom hat appears in the doorway, I hurry from my seat to meet her and see that her eyes are lackluster and tired. 

“The first treatment went well,” Dr. Byers tells Karen, and continues to talk without me hearing. I’m more concentrated on April and the dull look in her eyes. 

“Honey,” I say, kneeling down in front of her. “Are you okay? How did it go?” 

“Tired,” she says, and it seems to take a lot of effort for her eyes to lift from the floor to meet mine. “I wanna go home.” 

So that’s what we do. When we get home, Joe meets us at the door, but Karen ushers him away and asks me if I can help April up the stairs to take a nap. I easily lift her into my arms and feel the stares of her sisters as we pass through the front room, but I know she doesn’t notice. Her eyes are already most of the way closed. 

I lay her down in her bed and stand there for a second, wondering what I should do now. I decide that the best option is to lie down next to her, so I change into more comfortable clothes and spend a long while just watching her sleeping face. 

I don’t exactly know what radiation does or how it works - it’s not as clear to me as chemo. But we’re not allowed in the room when it happens, and I don’t like that. Since she’s been sick, one of April’s biggest anxiety-inducers is being by herself. So the fact that she has to be alone with a technician she doesn’t know throughout the whole therapy session makes me feel sick.

When she finally wakes up, it’s past dinnertime but I haven’t made a move to leave. I feel her stir, then her eyes blink open and they’re foggy as they try and focus on me. 

“Hey, baby,” I say, caressing her cheek. “You know where you are?” 

She softly shakes her head no.

“You’re in your bed in Moline,” I say. “We’re at your house. You had your first radiation treatment earlier today, it’s about 8pm and you’ve been asleep since about 2.” I rub my thumb over her cheekbone. “How’re you feeling?” 

She lets out a long sigh and stares up at the ceiling as her thoughts reconnect. It takes her a few minutes, but when she looks at me again, she’s more recognizable. When her eyes meet mine and they’re clear, a small sliver of hope lights up inside my chest. 

“The doctor, my doctor said…” she begins, and her voice is crackly. She clears her throat. “That the radiation is gonna make my skin super…” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. “Sensitive. Like really bad sunburn.” 

I nod. I’m not sure why she’s telling me this, but I want her to know that I’m listening.

“No one will be able to touch me,” she says. “Not even you.” 

The feeling that grows inside me is insistent and heavy as it sits in my gut. The way she’s looking at me tells me that this breaks her heart just as much as it’s breaking mine. 

“At least for a while,” she continues, reaching up to hold the side of my neck. “Until it’s over. So… can we have sex?” Her eyes are earnest and genuine. It seems like she was thinking about this when she went to sleep, but didn’t have enough energy to bring it up then. 

“Right now?” I ask. 

She nods. “I just want to be close to you,” she whispers. 

Of course, I oblige her. There’s no reason that I wouldn’t. As I get up to grab the condoms in my suitcase and take off my shirt, I lock the door and come back to bed to find her sitting up shirtless, too. She lays back down and beckons me closer, wrapping her small arms around my shoulders and burying her face in the crook of my neck as my body overlaps hers. 

She feels so frail beneath me, I have to ask. “Are you comfortable?” I say. “Is this good?” 

She nods surely. “Stay,” she says, skimming her fingertips down my back. “I want you here.” 

I kiss her slowly, one hand on the side of her face and the other trailing down to her waist, and she matches my tempo. I press my lips deftly to the middle of her throat, flicking my tongue against her pulse point, and move lower to suck on the skin over her collarbones. I press my cheek to her heartbeat and she weaves her fingers through my hair, breathing deeply, taking this in. 

I’m gentle with her. I have no desire to be anything else. I cherish her; I nearly worship her. I want, through all of these negative feelings, for her to experience something good. 

I shower her breasts with kisses, both closed and open-mouthed. They’ve shrunk a bit, but I still wouldn’t prefer anyone else’s over hers. I know them - they’re so familiar to me, and how she reacts is even more familiar. When I draw my tongue over her nipple, it hardens from the attention and I smile against her chest. I love getting certain responses out of her. I love knowing her better than anyone else does. 

I kiss my way down her torso and pull her pants and underwear down at the same time. Her thighs have grown smaller, though they weren’t big to begin with, so they part easily. I spend time at her hipbones, making trails of soft kisses leading in between her legs, and when I nuzzle my nose against her inner thigh, I hear a shaky breath escape her. 

I don’t make her wait. I cover her with my mouth, parting her folds and moving my head slowly to push my tongue inside her. I go slow; I take my time and I make her feel everything that I can. When she unwinds beneath me, it’s because she worked her way up to it. There was no rushing, there was no hurrying, there was no urgent whispers. It was just us, together, our bodies moving as one.

No one else knows her like I do. And no one knows me like she does. As I press gentle kisses to her belly, she’s breathing hard and deep, and I feel a warm sense of pride in my chest. I want to be the one to make her feel like this for the rest of our life together. 

Together. It’s a strong word, but I wouldn’t use any other. I want the two of us to be a pair, a partnership, for the entire time that we’re on this earth. I want to know her in every stage of her life - I want to grow old with her. I want to see what amazing things she’ll accomplish. I want to make her happy, see her succeed, I want to be her husband. 

I say none of this out loud. All I do is look up at her from between her legs and smile calmly. “I love you,” she murmurs. “I love you like crazy.”

I chuckle as I kiss my way up her pale body. “You always say that after I make you come,” I say. “I’m sensing a pattern. Are you only keeping me around because I’m a sex god?” 

“Jackson,” she says, hands planted on my chest near my neck. “Can you take me serious for one second?” 

“Okay, I’m serious,” I say, the smile dying away from my lips. 

“Do you know how loved you make me feel?” she says. “How important I feel when I’m around you, how valued and cared for?” She shakes her head a little. “I’ve never felt those things in my life. Not until you.” She presses her fingertips softly against my cheeks, and I lean into her. “I’m so thankful that I knew you,” she says. “I couldn’t have asked for anything more in my life.” 

Tears prick the backs of my eyes. She’s speaking in past tense. I want to scold her, tell her to snap out of it, but I don’t. She means what she says, and I don’t want to invalidate it. I want her to know that everything she says, every thought she’s ever had, is valid. 

I reach for a condom, but she touches my arm gently to stop me. “There’s really not a need for that, is there?” she says. 

I stare at her and she stares back as we exchange thoughts without words. I shrink back and leave the condoms where they are.

When I’m inside her, I have to press my lips together tightly so I don’t make any sound - it’s not late enough for her family to be asleep. It’s so good for her that I have to rest my hand over her mouth as she comes, and when she’s trembling beneath me, I replace my hand with my mouth and steal the sound from her that way. 

She buries her face in my damp hair once it’s over, tracing nonsense shapes over my biceps. “I love you,” I whisper, close to her ear. 

“So much,” she whispers back. 

Once April falls asleep, I spoon her from behind and press my face against the back of her neck. I start to cry - silently, so I won’t wake her - and hold her with all I’ve got. 

She is my whole world, and she’s resigning. But I won’t let her go. 

***

At the end of that week, when April wakes up from her post-treatment nap, she sits up too quickly with a sharp intake of breath. “Where are we?” she asks. 

I’m sitting at her desk, typing up something for an online class that was a compromise with my mom. I stand up slowly and make my way over to her, winding an arm around her shoulders once I sit. 

“We’re in your room, at home in Moline,” I say. 

She looks at me with wide, alarmed eyes. “What time is it?” she asks. 

“Around 6,” I say. “You’re up a little early from your nap today.” 

She stares at the carpet, eyebrows furrowed. “My head,” she says, bringing her right hand up to touch her temple. “It hurts.” 

“Here,” I say, and hand her the bottle of pain meds. “These usually help when you wake up.” 

She takes the bottle from me and I hear the pills shaking as she grips it and tries to twist the lid. She makes a frustrated sound and throws the container down onto the bed, where it rolls to the edge. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask, caught off-guard. 

“I can’t open the bottle,” she says, teeth gritted together. “My hands feel numb. They feel weak. I can’t, Jackson, I can’t-” 

“Shh, April, it’s okay,” I say soothingly, coming back over to open the lid. I shake two pills into her trembling hands and she takes them with a small glass of water, then stares ahead with burning determination in her eyes. 

“I need to practice,” she says, pushing herself up from the bed with great difficulty. She’s wearing soft, purple pajama pants that are tapered at the ankle and a ratty old hoodie from her high school. 

I follow her with my eyes. “Practice what?” I ask. 

Her hand is on the doorknob when she tosses the answer over her shoulder. “Piano,” she says, walking out into the hallway. I get up to go with her. “My hands… this can’t be happening to my hands.” 

With the location of the blood clots, Dr. Byers said it would be possible for her to lose dexterity in her hands. It’s been lessening as the days go by, but this was the first time that she couldn’t open her pill bottle. 

We go downstairs and she sits at the piano bench while I make my way to the armchair I like to sit in. The house is quiet - I’m not sure where her parents are, but her sisters are gone at a school sports game. They had invited me since April was sleeping, but I had chosen to stay with her. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking at me with irritated confusion on her face. 

“What do you mean?” I say. 

“Come sit next to me,” she says, scooting over a bit. “You always sit next to me.”

I let a short puff of air from my nose as I get up. “I didn’t know if you’d want me there,” I say. “I was giving you your space.” 

“I always want you next to me,” she says, but her voice is still frustrated. “I don’t know why you’d think I wouldn’t.” 

I sit down and she lays her fingers over the keys. I notice that she doesn’t have her music out, so she must plan on playing from memory. I let my shoulders relax as I watch her take a deep breath, in and out, and start to play. 

I don’t recognize the music that’s coming from her fingertips. It doesn’t sound like it normally does, but I don’t make any outward signs that I think that. I just continue to watch her, nodding my head, as she presses the keys. 

But soon enough, she hits them with the heels of her hands forcefully and makes a frustrated, loud sound, like a growl. “I can’t!” she exclaims. 

I wait a second before asking. “Can’t what?” I say.

She looks at me with glistening eyes. “Remember,” she says. “I’m trying to play Nocturne. I can’t remember how it goes.” She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and chews on it. “I used to mess it up. You know that part? You know the part with the eighth notes?” She hums it, but it doesn’t sound like anything I remember from Nocturne. “I can’t remember the notes.”

She’s angry with herself, I can see that much. It’s showing in her face, which is now turning a violent shade of red. 

“Well, that’s no big deal-” I say, but she interrupts me. 

“It  _ is _ a big deal, Jackson,” she says. “My short term memory. It’s-” 

“No,” I say, standing up. “I’m going to go get you your music. And when I bring it back, you’ll be able to play it. You played Nocturne all the way back in the fall, so what if you can’t remember it now?” I give her a kiss by the pompom of her hat. “You can’t be perfect all the time.” 

She watches me leave, and when I come back with her sheet music, she’s staring down at the piano and pressing the keys so softly that they don’t make any sound. 

“Here you go,” I say, opening the book to the right page. “There it is.” 

I watch her eyes graze over the music as she takes it in. 

“You good?” I ask, tipping my head. 

She nods slowly, repositioning her hands as she begins the piece over again. 

I remember Nocturne. It had been my favorite of her fall pieces, and I got to know the melody very well. And the way she begins the piece now is not how it sounded then, or how I think it’s supposed to sound. I don’t say anything, though. I’m not a professional, and she is. She knows what she’s doing. 

But I watch her face. It doesn’t look like it used to when she’d play - serene and lost in the music she was creating. Now, her eyebrows are knitted together, her lips are pinched, and her eyes are narrowed with concentration. Her hand movements are jerky and her foot on the pedal is jerky instead of smooth. 

I hear her let out a loud breath from her mouth and I know she notices the changes, too. She’s chewing madly on a small section of her lower lip as she focuses heavily on the page, and I will her brain to right itself. She’s getting more and more upset as the moments pass because the song sounds nothing like it should. 

After a few minutes of her stopping and starting and trying her hardest to play, she lifts her hands from the keys, pauses for a moment, then swipes the book onto the floor where it lies spine-up. 

“It’s not right!” she shouts, baring her teeth. Tears are streaming down her face as her chest heaves, air coming out in powerful gusts from her nose. “I lost it. The clots, they took it. I can’t play anymore.” She plunks her elbows down on the keys and buries her face in her hands, and I can see her shoulders trembling. 

“Hey…” I say, wrapping an arm around her. She melts against me, sobbing into my chest as I hold her tight. “It’s not for forever, you know? It’s just until we get those fuckers out of your head. Then you’ll be able to play like normal again.” 

She breathes shallowly and swallows, I can hear the gulp in her throat. I pull back and take her chin so she’ll look at me, and say, “Right?” 

She nods, but it’s not very convincing. 

“You’ll get it back,” I say. “Don’t worry.” 

Her lower lip trembles and I give her a soft kiss in attempt to make it still. “What am I without it?” she asks, minutely shaking her head. 

Now it’s my turn to furrow my eyebrows together. “April,” I say. “You’re everything without it.” 

She looks away. I know she doesn’t believe me, but I desperately want her to. I don’t know a way that I can force her, though.

“How about I play?” I ask, nodding encouragingly. “Would you like that, if I played something?” 

She looks up at me, her eyelashes sticking together with tears. She nods slightly, pulling completely away from the keys. She gets up and lets me in her spot, and I take her wrist before she can go far. 

“I want you on the bench next to me,” I say, copying her words from mere moments ago. She sits down quietly, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms. “What do you wanna hear? I know ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider,’ ‘Happy Birthday,’ ‘Twinkle, Twinkle,’ and ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’” 

She sniffles and laughs, still sounding teary. “Everything,” she says. “Everything you know.” 

I roll up my sweatshirt sleeves and wiggle my fingers for the dramatics of it all. “Looks like you’re in for a concert, piano girl,” I say. “I’ll let you in for free, just this once.” 

“Your teacher should always get in free,” she says, folding her hands on her lap. 

“The teacher,” I say, fanning my fingers out on the keys. “Has become the student.”

“Shush,” she says under her breath. “Play.” 

I smirk at her and start with the first song I ever learned from her ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ I can still remember the day she taught it to me - I had walked in on her in a practice room as she went over her pieces for the fall concert. I had a crush on her then but refused to admit it to myself, which was stupid. Now, I wish I would’ve just outed my feelings sooner. It would’ve made things between us so much simpler. 

I remember her not wanting to teach it to me, and I can see why she wouldn’t. I had acted annoying towards her on purpose, for reasons I still don’t know. Sometimes I do stupid things with no agenda because I tend to act before I can think about what I’m doing. She had been pretty stubborn, but not as stubborn as I was. I had been so cocky towards her, and thinking about it makes me laugh because it had been such a show. Now, she’s got me wrapped around her little finger, and she knows it. 

I still remember the way her fingers felt over mine for the first time. It had been such an intimate experience, I don’t really know how to explain the way it felt to just  _ be _ in that calm, quiet moment, learning from her. It felt like we were the only two people in the world, and I wanted to keep it that way. 

I took a long time to learn all these songs on purpose. 

I can still hear her little voice as she sang the lyrics while playing the song through my fingers. Soft and sweet, right in my ear, carrying the tune as easily as she does anything. 

She hasn’t sung in a while. It took her such a long time to sing for me, and I miss hearing her more than anything. I feel guilty asking, though. She’s going through so much, and I can’t ask for things like that when her body is literally falling apart outside of her control. 

I finish all of the songs in my repertoire, going as slowly as I can so her eyes don’t have to leave me anytime soon. I glance over at her a few times while I play the notes I have memorized, and we both smile when I do. During my second to last choice, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle,’ her hand finds its way to the small of my back and she draws herself closer to me as I play the children’s song that I’ve grown to know so well. 

When I’m all finished, I hold the last note for an extra long time and sit up straight and proud. “There you have it,” I say. “The masterful musical stylings of Jackson Avery, future M.D., a multi-talented genius who’s also pretty freakin’ easy on the eyes, if he does say so himself.” I laugh to myself, then screw up my eyebrows as I realize she’s not even giving me shit for going on and on. “Oh, do you really find me that insufferable?” I ask, then turn to look at her. 

Just as I turn, her eyes roll back into her head. Before I can react, she topples sideways off of the piano bench and onto the floor, where she lies trembling and shaking - only the whites of her eyes showing. Her jaw is clenched shut and her hands are balled into fists, and I shove the bench back to get down on the floor with her. 

She must be having a seizure. Her doctor said it would be possible, but that it was unlikely. She said we probably wouldn’t have to worry about something like this happening, that it would only be in an extreme case. 

Everything happens within a split second, a blink of an eye. I have tears streaming down my cheeks as my hands are on her shoulders, and I need help but I know I can’t leave her here on her own. With wide eyes, I look around the corner to the kitchen to see if anyone’s in there, but I find it empty. The house had been quiet. I don’t know where anyone is, so I just start shouting as loudly as I can. “Joe!” I scream. “Karen! Help! I need help!” 

I don’t know how long I scream for, but I don’t think much time passes before Joe comes sprinting into the living room. When he sees what’s going on, April has stopped shaking but is still lying on the floor, unresponsive.

I’m beside myself when I try and speak. “Seizure,” I stammer through my tears. “She had a seizure, I don’t know if she’s still having one, I-I-I… we were just playing, she fell off, I don’t know what happened.” I start to sob. “Please help.” 

He calls 911 and I sit next to April, unmoving, until the ambulance comes - sirens blaring - to rush her to the hospital. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -ATTENTION!!!!- 
> 
> I had to take chapter 17 down because I converted it into a short story and couldn't have it up on the internet at the same time as it's being reviewed for possible publication. but this chapter is integral to the story, so if you're reading through for the first time and have a big hole missing, please MESSAGE ME and I can send you the fanfic version. 
> 
> if the short story version ends up being published, this chapter will stay gone. but if the time comes and it doesn't get chosen, it'll get put back up eventually.
> 
> sorry for any inconvenience but i hope you all understand!

..........


	18. Epilogue

**JACKSON, AGE 29**

The sound of an email coming to my phone wakes me up in the morning, dragging me out of a dream that I’d been deeply buried in.

It’s September in Chicago, and still hot as ever outside. This time of year, the beginning of school, always brings back vivid memories for me. No matter how many years pass, every September always brings me to Clifton-Fullerton hall at DePaul during my freshman year.

I had been dreaming about April. I don’t let my thoughts wander to her very often anymore, but I have no control over my dreams. They’re not like the movies, where she comes and talks to me and tells me that she’s fine and she’s watching over me or anything like that. Most of the time, she doesn’t even talk.

The dream that I’m trying to wake up from is still fresh in my mind. I’d been in a big crowd, walking aimlessly. I hadn’t known I was looking for her until I saw her - saw the back of that auburn head bobbing through the sea of people. I’d called out for her as loudly as I could, and she’d turned around with a smile on her face, her eyes lit up. She looked exactly like she did ten years ago, before she got sick. Spunky, clear-eyed, and vivacious. She started running towards me, never breaking eye contact, but there were too many people. Every time she got closer, somehow she didn’t move at all. My frustration had started to build because even as we pushed our way through the crowd, we couldn’t reach one another.

And then I woke up to that little ‘bing!’

Sometimes I don’t even see her face. Last week, I had a dream where we were in formalwear for some reason, and all I saw were her shoulders as she was in a strapless green dress. She looked fantastic, and even though she never turned around, I had known it was her. Her presence was enough.

‘Bing!’ The email tone comes again, reminding me that I have one to check. I roll over on my side and reach across my empty bed, lifting my phone from where it was charging on the nightstand.

I yawn as I roll onto my back again. “Who in their right mind could be emailing me…” I say under my breath, unlocking my phone and clicking on the envelope icon to open my inbox. When I see who the sender is, my stomach practically falls to my feet. It’s my board exam results.

I sit up in bed, my back against the headboard, and notice that my hands are shaking. I took my boards two days ago and have been waiting for the results, trying to push it out of my mind so I wouldn’t drive myself crazy. And now they’re here. Once I click on this email, I’ll know if I’m a board certified surgeon or if I have to go into the hospital today with my tail between my legs.

I let a long breath out of my puckered lips and click on the email, closing my eyes for a second before reading it. I give myself a few seconds, then open them to read the result.

I passed.

I gasp. “I passed!” I say aloud, though I’m alone in my house. I pump my fists into the air and can’t keep the smile off my face as I celebrate. I feel so relieved, and I need to tell someone.

I scroll through the contacts in my phone, not really coming across anyone who I want to tell first. I keep scrolling, finding my way to the end of the list, and feel a frown begin on my forehead.

I don’t want to tell my mom, Mark, or my coworkers. I don’t want to tell Richard or Maggie, or anyone else for that matter.

There’s one person who I want to share this news with. One person who had all the faith in the world in me, the only person I can’t tell. The one person who I want to gush about it with isn’t here to listen and hasn’t been for a very long time.

A moment of pause drifts over me as I hold still, staring ahead at nothing. When big milestones happen in my life, she’s always the first person I think of. She’s the one who I want to share it with - the happy, the sad, the momentous things. It doesn’t feel right that she’s not here to smile that big, cheesy smile and throw her arms around me, probably knocking me back on the bed, smothering me in kisses.

It’s been ten years, and it still doesn’t feel like she’s really gone.

I lower my phone to rest in my lap and let myself wonder what she might be like now. She would be a teacher, that’s for sure. If she were alive, there’s no doubt that we would be married. There’s no one else I’d want as my wife. Maybe we’d have a kid. Maybe more than one, I don’t know. She would’ve made an amazing mother.

She would’ve made an amazing _anything_.

I don’t let myself think about her because it’s too indulgent. Once I start to think about her, I start to miss her. And when I miss her, I become removed from my life now, the one I’m living. And she had told me, before she left, that she didn’t want me to do that.

It’s hard, though. Living in the past is so much easier, so much more beautiful, because she’s still there. Stuck at 18, her memories are always there, waiting for me to come back to them.

And sometimes, I do. I remember the way her body felt in bed next to mine as I lie in my bed alone at night, warm and soft. I remember the soft way her hands would trace my facial features and her eyes would follow as they trailed over my skin. I remember how soft her voice would sound when she told me she loved me, and in how many ways she would show me. She didn’t have to tell me. I knew. Of course I knew.

But I always wonder, still, to this day, if she knew how much I loved her.

I force myself out of bed with a smile on my face, shaking my head to clear it. I just passed my board exams! I’m not a resident anymore. I’m officially going to be an attending, and I can’t wait.

I get ready quickly in the bathroom and pause for a moment inside the closet, letting my eyes graze over all of my clothes. I get dressed in something nice - dress pants and a button-up - and let my eyes fall on a shoebox on the top shelf that I haven’t touched since I moved in. I stare at it for a while, contemplating, until I stand on my tiptoes and pull it down to hold it between my hands.

I wipe off the layer of dust on the top and blink hard as it settles in the air. I walk back into my bedroom and sit down in the chair in the corner, then lift the lid off.

Inside are a bunch of memories that hurt to relive. There are pictures scattered around the bottom of the box; selfies of April and me that I haven’t looked at in years. I see us in front of Clifton, our faces red and sweaty from the heat. I see us both wrapped in the blanket she always wore at my soccer games, who knows where that disappeared to. I see us in fancy clothes after her second piano recital, the scarf on her bare head as her arms are wrapped around my waist. I think Karen took that one.

But most of all, I see us happy. And I can’t stop staring.

I don’t remember taking half of these pictures. Memories of her, especially the little things, have admittedly started to fade. I have to think for a second before I can remember how her voice sounded. How she smelled… I lost that one a long time ago.

But I can keep the sparkle in her green eyes, thanks to these photos. While she was alive, while we were together, had I been aware of the way she looked at me? Had I been aware of the fact that, in every single picture, I always managed to be touching her in some way?

I know I shouldn’t be sitting here before work, looking at these. But now, I can’t stop.

I come across a picture of her at the piano that I must have taken around the time that we met. She still has all her hair and she’s concentrated on her hands, watching them instead of looking at the music. Her back is perfectly straight, her posture impeccable, and I recognize the surroundings as the practice room we always sat in.

I set the photo down but keep my fingers on it, closing my eyes and imagining how her music sounded.

I look back in the box again, chuckling as I pet the stuffed animal goat that she got me for the one Christmas we spent together. “Lovey,” I say under my breath, remembering.

I move some photos to the side - one of us on the porch in Ohio, one blurry one of me on the soccer field, one of us decked out in DePaul garb on her bed - and find something I forgot I had. The Kepners gave it to me right after she died, before I went home to Boston.

The diamond and emerald hair clip. I pick it up and gently turn it this way and that in my hands, letting the light hit the jewels so they shine and glisten. I haven’t seen this in forever; I squint my eyes shut and try to remember the last time she wore it, but I can’t. I remember how it looked in her hair, but I can’t remember the last time she put it on.

I set it back down, my stomach twisting. I don’t like realizing that I’ve lost things about her. The fact that I’ve lived more of my life without her than with her makes me sick, though it shouldn’t anymore. It’s been ten years.

It’s been ten years, yet I’ve found no greater love than the one we shared. I talk to a therapist once a week and still skirt the subject of April Kepner. Opening up is difficult, nearly impossible, though it never used to be. She cracked me open pretty much the second she met me. Now, for anyone else, I am a closed book.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Her, maybe? I constantly tell myself to move on, that that’s what she wanted me to do. But I can’t. I’m holding onto the memory of her too tightly to go anywhere.

I swallow loudly and am about to replace the lid on the box when I see something glinting from inside it. I furrow my eyebrows and move more photos aside, then pull out something I thought I’d lost. It’s the stethoscope from that same Christmas, looking as new as it did the day I opened it. My mouth gapes a bit as I let the light hit it, and see my name engraved on the bell.

_Jackson Avery, M.D._

She never got to see me become one, but I’ve made it.

I keep it on my lap and close the lid of the box, setting it on my bed to take care of later. I carry the stethoscope with me, looped over my arm, as I walk through the house to the kitchen where I grab a banana. On the way there, I swipe my hand over the black grand piano and glance at the music on the stand - the latest piece I’ve been working on is called Laudate Dominum by Mozart, and it’s giving me a significant amount of trouble. I only know one person who would know the right ways to help me.

I smile to myself as I look at the piano, eating my breakfast. If only April could see me now, see what music I’m playing. I’ve moved way beyond ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider,’ that’s for sure.

I still have the beginner’s book she gave me inside the bench, though.

***

When I walk out of the attendings’ lounge at the hospital, I straighten my dark blue scrubs, lab coat, and sling my stethoscope on around my neck. I get a handful of congratulations as I walk through the halls, as I make my way to where I always do my rounds.

The oncology floor.

I clear my throat as I look at a tablet once I get off the elevator. One of my favorite patients is in today, 12-year-old Lila Patelli, for a round of chemo. I set the tablet down, go through my regular rounds, then head to her room. The same one she’s always in.

I knock on the edge of the doorframe and see her staring ahead at nothing, knees bent up as she drums her fingers on them. She looks over at me with a bored, lackluster expression on her face. “Hey, Dr. Avery,” she says.

“What’s up, scrub?” I ask, making my way inside with a clipboard in hand. “How’re you doing today?”

She shrugs. “Bored,” she says, then holds up her phone. There are blue butterfly stickers on the back of it, and I notice she has a temporary butterfly tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “My phone died.”

I sit down in a chair next to her bed and get comfortable, taking a deep breath as I situate. I usually don’t sit in patient rooms. At least I haven’t for a very long time.

“Well, I can keep you company,” I say.

“You’re wearing different colored scrubs today,” she notices. “Why?”

“I find the dark blue brings out my beautiful eyes more,” I say, and she rolls hers.

“You’re annoying, Dr. Avery.”

I laugh. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I passed my mother-freakin’ board exams, Lila. So I’m board certified now.”

She scrunches up her face at me. “Wait, you weren’t before?” I shake my head no. “Then why the heck were you my doctor?”

I laugh and try to explain to her how it works, but she still seems skeptical.

“Whatever,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “As long as you can make me better.”

“We’re getting there,” I say, running my fingers down the stethoscope.

“Hey,” she says, pointing at it. “That’s different from the old gray one you used to have.”

I look down at it, too. “I, uh, yeah,” I say, flipping it up so I can see the engraving and she can, too. “This one was…” I pause and clear my throat. “A gift.”

“Well, it’s way better than what you had,” she says. “That one was boring. This one’s cute.”

I chuckle. “Thanks.”

She sighs after a few minutes pass. “I’m still bored,” she tells me. “What can we do?”

I look over at her and rest my chin in my open palm. “I don’t know,” I say. I look at the far window, the TV mounted on the wall, the menu on the counter and let the memories come back. If just for today, I’ll welcome her back in here with me.

Instead of Lila, I see April on the reclining chair, the DePaul hat on her head as she watches The Bold and the Beautiful, unamused, on the TV. I see her waking up from a long nap, her eyes finding me first. I see her on that chair, looking smaller for each appointment. Her bones becoming more pronounced, her skin more pallid, and her eyes more sunken.

I can still remember the way her cue ball head felt on my lips.

“Do you like stories?” I ask Lila, jolting back to reality. Suddenly, a blonde 12-year-old is on the chemo chair again, not the redhead who I had once loved. The redhead who I will always love.

Lila scoffs. “What am I, five years old?”

I roll my eyes and pretend to be annoyed with her. “Have a nice day, then,” I say. “Being bored. Maybe you can draw out Candy Crush and play it by yourself.” I start to get up, but her voice stops me.

“No, wait,” she says. “Come on. Sure. Tell me a story.”

I sit back down, pleased with myself. Suddenly, it’s ten years earlier and I haven’t lost her yet.

“You like love stories?” I ask Lila.

She gives me a look. “Do you…?” she asks.

“I do,” I say, leaning forward a bit. “And I know a great one. You in?”

She smirks, though she tries to suppress it. “Sure,” she says, laughing a little bit as she rolls her eyes.

I can practically see her - see April - sitting right next to Lila on that reclining chair, making those same facial expressions. She never wanted to give in and laugh at my stupid jokes, but she could never help herself. As long as she kept smiling, I kept making them.

I’d do anything to see that smile now. Hear that wild laugh, her head thrown back with her mouth wide open. Feel her hand tucked into mine or just know that she was nearby, close to me, where I could keep her.

I’d never let her go.

We hadn’t known each other long. We didn’t meet in the most conventional of circumstances or go about our relationship like a normal couple would. But it was enough. It was more than enough.

We were kids in love, but we both knew it was more than that. She made me feel things that I never knew were possible, and that I haven’t felt since. Something about her was purely magic, and she showed me a small sliver of that while she was here.

She had been my soulmate, I know that now. And we were lucky to have each other for the time that we did. We could have done anything, but we chose to fall in love. Maybe we’ll see each other again someday, somehow, but until then, she’ll live through my memory.


	19. The Sound track

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I feel about fics and their soundtracks, especially this one! Enjoy!

Kids in Love - The Mowglis

Stars - Alessia Cara

I Can't Fall in Love Without You - Zara Larsson

-

> April's Fall Recital:

Meine Freuden - Frederc Chopin & Franz Liszt

Nocturne No. 2 in D-Flat Major - Frederic Chopin

Arabesque No. 2 - Claude Debussy

Metamorphosis 1 - Philip Glass

Ravel: Jeaux d'eaux - Maurice Ravel

-

Feels - Calvin Harris

Baby I'm Yours - Arctic Monkeys

Just the Way You Are - Bruno Mars

Cue the Rain - Lea Michele

Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran

Next to You - Jordin Sparks

One and Only - Adele

Home - One Day

Can't Help Falling in Love - Jesse Daniel Smith

Weakness - Jeremy Zucker

Milk and Water - Jon Bryant

your text - Sundial

You Are My Home - Man of Leisure

Only You - Zara Larsson

Bloom - The Paper Kites

No Goodbyes - Dua Lipa

I Like Me Better - Lauv

For You - Gavin James

The Nearness of You - Norah Jones

Perfect - Ed Sheeran

-

> April's Winter Recital

24 Preludes, Op. 28 No. 15 in D-Flat Major - Frederic Chopin

Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 21 Andante - Amadeus Mozart

La Campanella in G-sharp minor - Franz Liszt

Gratitude - Edvard Grieg

-

Fix You - Coldplay

Long Night - With Confidence

Strangers in Love - Parisian

Yellow - Coldplay

Come Home - OneRepublic

I Won't Give Up - Jason Mraz

-

> Jackson's Piece

Laudate Dominum - Amadeus Mozart

-

Spotify link: https://open.spotify.com/user/1253167892/playlist/5HSH8lpePCGc0dMkm4yY9B


	20. Outtake #1

JACKSON

I wasn’t scared when it was my time to go. 

Dying isn’t like how people describe it. It isn’t quick and painless, joy and catharsis over heartache. It’s slow, tedious, and just when you think you’re ready to leave, your body gets a second wind. 

My organs gave out one by one as my son and daughter, both adults, watched from my bedside. Their mother held my hand and stroked my thin skin. We all cried. 

I wasn’t sure what would come after I closed my eyes for the final time. But I knew I would miss this. I would miss my life. I had lived the hell out of it. 

It took days after I was admitted for my body to shut down. But it eventually did, predictably. Every morning was a bit more difficult than the one preceding.

My breaths became shallower. My thoughts became cloudier. I felt it happening, and my family saw it. If I would’ve had the strength, I would’ve begged them to leave so that wasn’t the last image they’d have of me. I know how last images work. 

They don’t fade, no matter how many others you have. 

And one night, with my daughter’s hand clutching mine and my son crying on my shoulder, I closed my eyes and felt the energy drain from my body. The life slipped out of me like smoke, like it was never mine to hold forever. Only for a short while.

When I open my eyes again, the world isn’t how I remember. It looks the same, but somehow different. There’s no blinding light, no flash of my life before my eyes. It simply looks like I’ve been transported to a different time, a point in my life I know very well. 

I look down at my hands. I don’t see papery skin with veins just underneath, I don’t see knobby elbows and rickety knees. Instead, I see vitality and life. I see strong muscles and smooth, even-toned skin. I see myself as a young man. 

I look around, blinking against the sunlight pouring down on me. It warms my skin, actually warms it, for the first time in years. 

I’m on DePaul’s campus. I haven’t been here since I graduated when I was 22 years old, and it looks no different. I realize I’m standing in the middle of the quad, and everything is the same. I can see the library, the building named after my grandfather, the science building, and University Hall. 

I smile to myself. Death took me home. 

“Jackson.”

I hear my name from a voice faraway and distant. It dawns on me that I’m not alone. There are plenty of other people milling around, nothing about their faces discernible. But at the same time, it’s a comfort they’re here. It’s nice to be around people. 

“Jackson.” 

I hear my name again, and this time I’m sure of it.

I spin around and the fuzziness fades away. There she is, standing up from a blue picnic table. She’s wearing a light green, short-sleeved dress that falls to her knees. Her hair is in lush curls around her shoulders, bouncing as she tosses her head to smile at me. 

It’s her. 

“Piano girl,” I say, and my voice comes out the way I always knew it. Sound, firm, youthful. Not crackled and broken, how it’d grown to be as I aged. 

“I’ve been waiting,” she says, taking airy steps towards me. I’ve never seen a light shine brighter than the halo of sun that surrounds her. She surpasses heavenly; she is an angel. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

72 years have passed since we said goodbye. Since I held her in my arms and felt her take the same shallow breaths that just escaped my living body. 

I never stopped thinking about her, but my life had to go on. She told me that it did. I got married, had children and grandchildren. I was the head of my department and chair of the hospital. I did everything I set out to do.

But I had lived it all without her. I had aged without her, grown and learned life lessons she would never experience. I shed my skin and became a new person; one she had never touched. 

But in this moment, I’m who I used to be. I’m 18, a freshman in college, and hopelessly in love with a girl who exudes light and love and purity. I’m young and in love with the girl who showed me the beauty of living. 

I take her hands. When I touch her, I see everything I never forgot. I see her laughing at a stupid joke I told, head thrown back and eyes pinched tightly shut. I see her sitting at the piano bench, her spine impossibly straight as her fingers fly over the keys. I see her face tucked close to mine as she smiles in the morning, hair a mess and eyes bleary.

I don’t see the DePaul hat with the pompom on top. Instead of baldness, I see a full, healthy head of shiny red hair. Instead of dull, sick eyes, I see ones that are glistening with youth.

I see everything she was supposed to be, meant to be.

I see the wedding we never had, children of ours never born. I see a life that begged to be lived. 

“I’m here now,” I say, tucking a strand of her soft hair behind her ear. I can’t take my eyes off of her. She looks so different than the last time I saw her. 

Final images don’t fade, except when they do. 

Here now, together wherever we are, there’s no time constrictions. No expectations to live up to, no rules to abide by. Now, it’s just the two of us, forever. 

How it used to be, how it once was. How we began, how we ended, how we’ve started all over again, as kids in love. 


End file.
